


might just be my everything

by starlard



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Derek gets the therapy he needs and deserves, Fluff, M/M, Stiles is in Satomi's pack, With a smidge of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-05-20 11:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 65,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14894246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlard/pseuds/starlard
Summary: Arranged marriages were a completely bazonkers idea in general, hence their nonexistence in 21st century America, but millenia-ancient magic didn’t care about modern courtship rituals like dating, and this was a time-honored method of getting what he wanted.What Stiles wanted, all he wanted, was to protect his dad. And his pack. And Scott, who despite having abandoned Stiles in high school to join the Hale Pack, was still the best bro he could ever have, so that made for two packs.The point is, if marrying a distant acquaintance can possibly stabilize the entire county and protect basically everyone he cares about, Stiles is gonna do it. And he’s not going to freak out about it.Much.So he talked to Hideyo, Satomi’s emissary and his mentor.Hideyo talked to Satomi.Satomi called Laura.Laura got Deaton, and the five of them met at a taco truck, of all places.It was in neutral territory. And the tacos de carnitas were legendary.





	1. So it begins

Stiles had a mantra that he repeated to himself whenever he thought he might lose his nerve.

Do what you have to to keep the ones you love safe. Just, whatever it is. Just do it.

Okay, so maybe he ripped it off from a certain sports company when he was in high school and trying on an athletic persona. It wasn’t like he was saying it out loud. In front of other people.

‘Whatever it is’, at this moment, seemed to be suggesting an arranged marriage with the werewolf pack in Beacon Hills with, ta-da! Himself as the prize groom. 

Arranged marriages were a completely bazonkers idea in general, hence their nonexistence in 21st century America, but millenia-ancient magic didn’t care about modern courtship rituals like dating, and this was a time-honored method of getting what he wanted.

What Stiles wanted, all he wanted, was to protect his dad. And his pack. And Scott, who despite having abandoned Stiles in high school to join the Hale Pack, was still the best bro he could ever have, so that made for two packs. 

Protection wasn’t something Stiles was going to take lightly. If he had learned anything in the last six years, it was that. 

Junior year at Beacon Heights high school, he and Scott had gone with the lacrosse team to their rivals in Beacon Hills. Tired of warming the bench, they snuck off in the third quarter and promptly got attacked by a crazed alpha werewolf.

Scott was bitten—mauled, basically—and Stiles would have met the same fate, if it weren’t for the hottest pair of siblings he’d ever encountered. They took Peter down, Laura delivered the killing blow, and she became the alpha.

That was the simple retelling, with hindsight being 20/20 and all that. At the time, it was gory, dirty, painful, and unsettling in the way that makes you vomit against the nearest tree. Which Stiles did, and he refused to be embarrassed by that.

Laura offered Scott a place in her pack, met his mother and explained things with a confidence no alpha of 22 years should possess. She also offered to introduce them to Satomi Ito’s pack, but Satomi was reeling from a recent attack from Deucalion and would only take Scott on with a six-month probationary period. 

Melissa and Scott decided on the pack that was ready to commit to Scott’s wellbeing, and moved to Beacon Hills.

Left on his own devices for the first time in a decade, and imbued with new knowledge of the supernatural, Stiles quickly glommed onto Satomi’s pack at school, never mind that most of them were two years younger than him. He had questions, okay? 

Since then, he’d discovered his spark, saved Satomi’s pack a couple of times, and become so indispensable that they were all family. He didn’t tell his dad until after high school graduation, when Stiles was old enough that the Sheriff couldn’t tell him to stay away. The Sheriff was angry about the secrets, but relieved to finally find out what was behind all the more disturbing unsolved cases. 

The pack gave him purpose, a full family, a second home when his dad was working overnight shifts. They forgave him when he let them down, and made allowances for his flaws. 

So yeah. Anything. He’d do it.

Sure, he was giving up his chance for a normal marriage, but the number of people who willingly stayed single was on the rise, and who was to say Stiles wouldn’t have become part of that population anyway? And there’s only so much normalcy you can expect when you’re training to be the emissary for a Buddhist, pacifist pack of werewolves. Like, things are always going to be a bit unpredictable.

He just hoped that the Hales wouldn’t offer someone who was, say, forty years old. Or more. Although if the person in question was a werewolf, forty was basically the new twenty, given the excellent physical fitness and lack of disease.

Heck, sixty was the new twenty.

No, that was too far. 

Not that Laura’s pack had anyone over thirty in it, anyway, considering their losses ten or twelve years ago. 

The point is, if marrying a distant acquaintance can possibly stabilize the entire county and protect basically everyone he cares about, Stiles is gonna do it. And he’s not going to freak out about it.

Much.

So he talked to Hideyo, Satomi’s emissary and his mentor. 

Hideyo talked to Satomi.

Satomi called Laura.

Laura got Deaton, and the five of them met at a taco truck, of all places.

It was in neutral territory. And the tacos de carnitas were legendary.


	2. Preliminary negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fandom needs more taco trucks.  
> Set on Tuesday, May 22.

“Okay, I’ve got 12 carnitas, 4 chicharron, 2 shrimp, and 2 carne asada,” announced Laura, carrying the tray with one hand because either she was a showoff, or she didn’t know how weak humans functioned. Both were likely. “I would have ordered more but I didn’t want to hold up the line too much.”

They were seated at a picnic table that was both under a giant sycamore tree and next to the road, providing both shade and some protection from eavesdropping. It was so painstakingly casual, but Stiles had to restrain himself, multiple times, from jogging his legs up and down and tapping his fingers.

“You’re forgetting that three of us are human,” said Hideyo, speaking with that placid tone of voice he reserved for when he was being a little shit. 

Stiles meant that in the most affectionate way possible. Hideyo was, he was convinced, the inspiration for Iroh from The Last Airbender. How Nickelodeon had gained access to an ancient Japanese emissary in northern California, he hadn’t figured out yet.

“I’ll show you a human appetite,” said Stiles, making a move on the carnitas first. He only froze when Satomi cleared her throat. “Right. My bad. Thank you for the meal,” he said, nodding to Laura and sitting back in his chair. “Alpha Hale,” he added under his breath, loud enough that the werewolves could hear.

Werewolf manners didn’t come easily to Stiles. Any manners, really. He was working on it.

“Eat all you want. I’ll get more in ten minutes,” said Laura, flipping her hair-commercial hair to one shoulder to cool off. They were sitting in the shade, but it was May in California, which meant it was already hot enough to cook an egg.

“So Stiles,” began Laura (waiting until Stiles had already shoved an entire taco in his mouth just to be difficult, he saw that look in her eye), “Scott has been nagging me on and on to tell him what this meeting is about, which means you haven’t even told him, which means you have something especially juicy.”

Stiles nodded and tried to choke down his food, ended up having a coughing fit that lasted twice as long as eating normally would have taken, and restrained himself from flipping Alpha Hale off. From the little time he had spent with her, he liked her a lot, which made it hard for him to remember she wasn’t a close friend. “It’s, well, I have an idea where we can help each other out. You need more pack power to keep the Nemeton from acting out, but you’re kind of stuck into a corner, because without more pack the Nemeton will bring in chaos, but growing your pack too quickly will also create an equal amount of chaos, because we all know baby werewolves are a pain in the—”

Satomi drummed her fingers on the table pointedly, and Stiles coughed.

“Yeah. And, my pack is amazing, but people are figuring out that we’re about as deadly as a pack of bunnies, and that could paint a target on us. If we could access some of the power of the Nemeton to bolster our defenses, it would take a big weight off our collective minds.”

Laura looked at Deaton, who looked back at her placidly. Somehow she was able to have a conversation with his expressionless face, and she turned to Stiles with a sigh.

“We’ve already had to fight off two ghouls and a darach this year,” she said, which Stiles knew already, but he knew what she was really saying. She was open to suggestions. “What do you have in mind?”

“A blood alliance.”

“Marriage?” said Deaton, lifting his eyebrows.

“Yes. Since the other kind is, you know, gory. And dark.”

“Between?” 

Stiles started blushing, despite his internal harangue to _not be embarrassed, dammit, this is a good idea._ “Whoever you choose and, uh, me.”

“Hmm,” was all Laura said, leaning forward so her chin rested on a hand. The food was forgotten on the table while she examined him. It wasn’t very _grr, I’m an Alpha_ -like as far as poses go, but Stiles straightened his posture instinctively.

“So you would be willing to marry one of the women from my pack? Anyone willing? And that would stabilize both our territories?” Laura looked back at Deaton again, and he gave a solemn nod.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Yeah. Or, you know, a man would be fine too. For me. Just, uh, not Scott, because that would feel a little too…” he couldn’t bring himself to say _incestuous_ in front of Satomi, but he hoped his shudder conveyed the general idea. 

“Got it,” said Laura. “Hmm.” She surveyed him long enough for Stiles to start wondering if he was allowed to start eating, then shook off her reverie. “Satomi? What’s your opinion?”

The old lady reached across the table in a rare show of affection, taking Laura’s hand. “I wish I had done more to help you when you first became Alpha,” she said, her face softer than usual. “I was too preoccupied with taking care of my own pack, and I know I let you down. I would not have called you if I didn’t think it would protect us all.”

Laura nodded, and her flawless forehead wrinkled in concentration. It only made her eyebrows look more amazing. Seriously, the Hale genes were so beautiful they were almost problematic. “Stiles? You’re sure you want this alliance?”

Stiles could only nod. He wanted it more than he was willing to explain.

Deaton wiped his fingers on a napkin, a little fastidiously, and addressed Hideyo. “If we proceeded with the wedding, how soon would you want it to be held? The summer solstice might be too soon, but it has the advantage of being a full moon.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Hideyo, dribbling salsa verde over his tacos with the equilibrium only druids seemed to possess. Someday, Stiles would be that stoic and badass. Maybe. “The autumnal equinox would be my second choice.”

Four months away. Four months of this tension, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It was too fucking long for Stiles. He hid his shaking fingers under the table and hoped nobody noticed. Better to throw himself into marriage with a stranger within the month, if it meant he could sleep again.

Deaton seemed to share his opinion, nodding gravely. “We will make a decision as soon as possible.”

“If you decide to proceed, we would have less than a month before the binding ceremony. Will a week be enough time to decide?” asked Satomi, looking at Deaton and Laura in turn like the diplomat she was.

Laura had another nonverbal conversation with her emissary and sighed again. “It’ll have to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now this fic is rated T, but there's a good chance I'll move it up to M later on. There are discussions of sex, and lots of swearing, so if you think I should change it to M now please let me know.  
> Writing this made me so ridiculously hungry.


	3. Pep talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott and Stiles are still brotp.  
> Wednesday, May 23

“Dude.”

“I know.”

_“Duuuuude.”_

Stiles laughed and flung himself back on his bed, narrowly missing the headboard and a probable concussion. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but Hideyo said we should ask your Alpha first, because of protocol.”

“You know the crazy thing?” Scott’s voice was fond and a little wistful, coming through the phone. “I wasn’t even surprised. Like, of course Stiles figured out a way to fix everything. That’s my bro.”

Stiles chuckled, letting himself feel a little proud. Also, Scott, ever the romantic, wasn’t immediately trying to talk him out of it, which was a testament to how worried the sister cities of Beacon Hills and Beacon Heights were getting. “Thanks, man. So what’s the word on the street in Beacon Hills? Are people diving left and right out of sight so they don’t have to be saddled with my spastic self?”

Scott was reproachful now. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. And also, I’m not allowed to give you any inside information. Laura was very specific about that. There were threats. Real threats.”

“Yeah, well, she knows how we are.”

“Yeah, she does.” Scott was silent for a while, and Stiles steadied himself for what he knew was coming. “You know, man, if you don’t want to do this, we’ll find another way.”

“I don’t think there is another way, Scotty. Not anything as good, at least.”

“I just hate the idea that you might end up marrying someone you wouldn’t have chosen otherwise, you know? Like, you just graduated college. You deserve a little more time before you give up on dating altogether.”

Stiles took a deep breath. He knew all this, had thought it through on his own, but hearing it from his best friend made it just a little bit worse. “Yeah, but you know I’m not really cut out for dating the way people my age are supposed to. I always get in way too deep too fast. Like remember when I slept with Heather, and all she wanted to do was lose her virginity, and I knew that, but I still couldn’t even look at another girl for two years? I’m too intense. I’m not cut out for casually meeting someone and acting like I feel less than I do.”

Scott was quiet, even though Stiles knew he was aching to argue. But Stiles’ track record spoke for itself. There wasn’t a single person he had dated who wasn’t put off by how quickly he got attached. 

“There’s still time,” Scott finally said. “Like, we could wait until fall, right?”

Stiles felt worn as he contemplated that. There was the scratching of nails in the back of his mind, of the feeling of a sword in his hand, the reverberation of distant explosions. He felt like he was surrounded by the echoes of things that had yet to be, things he would do anything to stop. He’d thought he was reacting strangely to his medication until Lydia called, asking what he knew about the old Japanese concentration camp, asking why it would be relevant.

And then, when he went to Satomi, she told him everything. 

And Stiles knew he was fucked.

“No, we can’t wait,” Stiles said quietly. “At least, we shouldn’t. If something happened to you, or my pack, or my _dad_ , Scott,” he said, feeling a little desperate and like there was a hot pebble in his throat, “and I let it happen so I could date around…”

“I know, man.” 

“Yeah.”

They waited on the phone, and it was a comfortable silence, the kind that can only exist between two good friends.

“Besides, I have you to live vicariously through,” said Stiles, wiping away the moisture that had gathered under his eyes. “What’s this I hear about you asking Kira out? You know she’s going to look twenty for the next thirty years, right?”

“Stiles,” admonished Scott, sounding relieved through the phone.

“This means that you have to be on your A-game until the end of time, man. Like, werewolf healing or not, you’ve got to start a real skincare regimen. Like that 12-step Korean shit.”

Scott groaned, and the sound filled Stiles with the joy that only came from driving his best friend up a wall. 

It would be okay. Even if he were only doing this for Scott, it would be okay.


	4. Presenting... You already know who it's going to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday, May 25-Saturday, May 26

It turned out that the Hale Pack didn’t need a whole week. They got back to them in three days.

“Stiles,” said Hideyo, coming in from the soundproofed home office.

“Yeah, bossman,” said Stiles, jamming the controller with his right thumb repeatedly as he tried to take Brett down in Smashbrothers. The punk was home for the summer, and Smashbros was their _thing_ , and Stiles was not about to let him win. Period.

Brett was the ultimate shithead and always chose Kirby, and now he was blasting Stiles’ Charizard into oblivion with his own power. Stiles desperately mashed his keys, trying to keep Charizard aloft. Almost there—

“The Hales called.”

Stiles’ head whipped around, and Brett finished him off with a crow of victory. “Suck iiiiiit! Oh, shit.”

All the activity in Satomi’s pack house ceased like a switch went off. There were probably twelve pack members spread throughout today, enough to create a constant hum of movement and ambient noise, but even Stiles with his dinky human ears could tell that everyone had stopped talking, and Mary had switched off the radio in the kitchen.

Stiles swallowed. “Okay. What did they say?”

“They have a candidate. Would you like to go into the office?”

“Uh, no, that’s okay. You can just tell me.” His pack was his family. They might as well hear the news along with him.

“They suggested Derek Hale.”

Stiles gaped. He might have blacked out for a minute, because when he became aware of his actions, he had his hands covering his face and there was a faint keening noise that was—yup, that was coming out of his mouth. He shut his mouth with a clack. “You’re joking,” he whispered, and he could hear Mary crowing and laughing in the distance.

“Am I,” said Hideyo, pretending he didn’t care in the least, but Stiles knew he was thoroughly enjoying this, that sly old man.

“Hideyo, I can’t marry Derek Hale,” Stiles hissed, before remembering the werewolves would hear him regardless. “He’s straight.”

“Is he?” Hideyo was looking at him with eyebrows raised in a way that was meant to look nonjudgmental but was really, Stiles knew from experience, severely judgmental.

“Isn’t he?” Really, it was hypocritical of Stiles to be so shocked to hear that someone was queer, but he was still making that keening sound somewhere deep inside his brain, and it was very distracting.

Brett, because he was the bane of Stiles’ existence, cackled. “You know, Stiles, not everybody fits into a heteronormative narrative.”

Stiles glared at him. “I hate you so much right now.”

“And if someone’s not your type, you don’t have to make excuses—”

Brett cut off with a yelp as Stiles beaned him in the face with a couch pillow.

Hideyo cleared his throat. “Stiles.” Again, very little expression. Infinite judgment.

“Yes.” Stiles could focus. Yes, he could.

“Any other objections?”

He swallowed. “Nope.” Except Derek Hale was terrifying and the kind of hot that actually hurt to be around and Stiles had no idea what his personality was, none. Like Derek’s inner monologue could be the musical hook from Mr. Sandman for all Stiles knew.

“Good. You should probably tell your father.”

Stiles blanched.

Right.

* * *

“For someone who claims to be so concerned about my heart, you have a funny way of showing it, son,” said his dad, not even pretending to eat his salad.

Stiles winced. When he came to his dad’s house today, he had a plan, and it had included getting his dad to eat as many vegetables as possible before they got to this point, since these were probably the last ones he’d eat for a while. The rest of the month would be spent passive-aggressively downing hotdogs and hamburgers, just to punish Stiles. And also because of stress, maybe. But mostly revenge.

“I only thought of it last week, when I got back from school, and I didn’t want to tell you if it wasn’t going to happen,” said Stiles, letting his guilt show, and maybe piling it on a little thick.

Do what it takes. Just do it.

Heh.

“Yeah, I know, you’re part of a pack, pack loyalty, blah blah blah. I’m just mad that it’s so soon. Does it _have_ to be the June 21st?”

“It’s the best date for months. It’ll give everyone some extra juice. And you know,” Stiles said, pulling out his trump card, “this will protect me, too. It’ll make me stronger and all the stuff I do won’t make me as tired. Less burnout! Yay!”

His dad was glaring at him now, but Stiles had won. He was on a roll these days.

“And it’ll help you sleep at night?” his dad demanded.

Stiles winced. He hoped it wouldn’t be so obvious, but of course his dad would notice the growing smudges under his eyes, even before his own pack. “Yeah. One of the reasons sooner is better.” More like the main reason. Nope, not thinking about that.

“I want to meet him,” ordered his dad.

“Absolutely.”

“As soon as possible.”

“You’ve got it.”

“And we’re eating ribs.”

Stiles gasped in horror, and it wasn’t even for show. “No!”

“We’re eating ribs,” said his dad, like it was final. And fuck everything, it probably was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I know about Smashbros, I learned from this youtube video five minutes ago: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X9psu_09ays


	5. Classic diner scene!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday, May 28  
> Stiles and Derek finally talk face to face

It was Monday afternoon, Hideyo and Deaton were working on the fine details of the binding ceremony, and Stiles was _not_ invited, for reasons he still didn’t understand. 

Well, that wasn’t true. He understood them, obviously. Understanding them didn’t make their reasons any less wrong.

“Call him,” was all Hideyo said as he pushed Stiles out of the house. As if he thought Stiles was hiding.

Pah! Ridiculous notion. 

It took less than two hours for Stiles to text Derek, thank you very much.

And yes, maybe texting was the coward’s way, but Stiles was being considerate. He didn’t want to interrupt, and phone calls from anyone but family and close friends are practically an assault on someone’s busy day.

Derek responded immediately, like, lightning fast, which was really fucking annoying. Well, two can play that game, buddy. Stiles texted back, no overthinking allowed, no time to waste, which was how he suggested getting dinner in _half an hour_ , which would give him exactly enough time to get there. 

And Derek said yes. Fucker.

“You know, someone with manners would have at least given me five minutes,” said Stiles, seething as he threw himself into his Jeep and put the keys in the ignition. “Does he have no social anxiety at all? He probably has no new messages in his email account. What a psychopath.”

Stiles probably should have used the thirty minute drive to go through his meditation exercises, but surprisingly, he didn’t seem to need them. He was having too much fun ranting, and he was still going strong as he pulled into the diner, one he’d never been to before. It was called Aunt May’s. Heh. 

Derek would probably never get why that made Stiles’ day.

Still, a boy could dream.

He went inside, expecting to be the first, because maybe he had sped a bit, but there, facing the door four tables away, was a black leather jacket, jet black hair, black stubble, just—a lot of black. And early. 

See? Psychopath. 

Beautiful, dry-mouth inducing psychopath.

He hadn’t seen Derek in years, despite the fact he popped up in Scott’s conversation now and again. And while this should be completely illegal, he had somehow gotten hotter. Like he had stopped using quite so much hair product, and he was toned enough for Stiles to zone in on his suprasternal notch peeking through the top of his, surprise surprise, _dark gray_ henley, and who wears this much black in the summer anyway?

“On your way to the Counting Crows concert, I see,” said Stiles’ mouth, completely without his permission. He slid into the booth in front of Derek. Well, he blew it. He came in strong with the cavalier, snarky persona, and he had to just commit to it now.

“What about you? The Malcolm in the Middle cast reunion party?” 

Stiles was speechless. That was uncalled for, and a little obscure, and chillingly spot-on. Derek raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Recover, Stilinski. You’ve been training for this all your life.

“Why? You want an autograph from Frankie Muniz?” Not great, he could do better.

“I don’t think they give them out to people without frosted tips.” Derek was giving it back faster than Stiles could even dish it out, and he was impressed, then aroused, then deeply embarrassed because Derek could probably tell. He settled on feeling flustered.

“Well, aren’t you quick-fire Jones today?”

That damn eyebrow again. 

“I don’t know where that came from. I have a lot on my mind.”

The smirk Derek had been sporting dropped, and he swallowed. “Yeah,” he said, reaching for the menu like he was ready to order, but probably so he could cut the tension. “You ever had the burgers here?”

“I’ve never been here,” said Stiles, also picking up a menu, double-functioning as a placemat. “I already have six other diners I split my loyalty between.” He looked up in horror. “Not that I only ever eat burgers, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude. Scott told me that both you and your dad eat an unhealthy amount of burgers but constantly lie about it to each other.”

“Scott is a snitch, and I hope you tell him what that gets him.”

“A burger set and milkshake to go,” said Derek smoothly.

“No,” said Stiles, trying to sound angry, but that stupid joke was right up his alley. His voice wavered a bit with suppressed laughter. 

There it was. Derek was smirking again.

Like he had planned everything ahead of time to be attractive in every possible way to Stiles, and was nailing it.

And he was. Nailing it. 

Dammit. The side effect was that now Stiles was feeling intensely inadequate in Derek’s presence, more than ever before, which was saying something. 

The last time he had seen Derek was two years ago, at a inter-pack sports day Satomi and Laura had held at the state park. Stiles caught Derek glaring at him with his fists clenched at his sides, and promptly brained himself on the nearest basketball hoop. Not his finest moment.

“Ready to order?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Stiles, which was a total lie. While he’d been reliving Stiles’ Most Embarrassing Fuckups, the waitress was already standing there expectantly, and from the way Derek was waiting for him, he’d already ordered. “I’ll have the same.”

The waitress scribbled on the pad, recited her diner-standard _Get that right out for you hon_ , and sauntered back to the kitchen. 

There was a heavy silence when the waitress left, killing the conversation dead. Maybe because Derek was realizing, as Stiles was, that they were just procrastinating the serious part. Because once the serious started, it wouldn’t end for, well, a painfully long time, probably. 

Derek put his left arm up and flexed his impressive bicep, which, not that Stiles _minded_ , per se, it just seemed a little strange that he—oh, he was just scratching the back of his head. Well. 

Stiles rallied. “So, uh, Derek. Your name is Derek, isn’t it?”

Derek didn’t laugh, but he did breathe out his nose a little louder than usual, so that was a success.

Of course, Stiles had to make things weird, because that was what he did.

Stiles felt the words about to come storming out of his mouth like a freight train. He tried to stop them, but it was already too late. “So, you’re not, like, straight, are you?”

Derek, sitting slightly hunched over, lifted his eyes to Stiles’ face with impressive incredulity, considering he hadn’t moved a muscle.

Stop, Stiles. 

Back off and don’t make this any worse.

Of course, Stiles listened to few people, least of all himself.

“I just, if you’re 100% straight I don’t think this will work, because the closer to a real marriage we make this, the better it will bind our packs, and—oh, man, I just realized we’d be _doing it_ for everyone’s safety, which is already kind of weird, but if you like, can’t physically be into it at _all_ then I don’t know if _I_ can do it because that would be entirely too messed up on every—”

“Stiles,” said Derek, stopping his spiral with a hand over his. “I’m not straight.”

“Oh, thank Cthulhu,” gasped Stiles, promptly laying his head facedown on the table. 

In the darkness and safety of his arms, he felt a soft touch stroking over the back of his hand, Derek’s thumb maybe. Huh. That felt—that was kind of nice.

Then the hand was gone, and Stiles reflexively curled it into himself and rolled so his head was cushioned sideways on his arms. “So what are you? Not that I need a label, but I just want to make sure that I’m in the realm of people you could possibly be attracted to, which just seems completely bazonkers to me because I’m not completely unaware of my attractive qualities, but I’m also not, you know,” and he waved a hand listlessly at Derek’s everything, “heading up a show on the CW or anything. Unlike other certain people. At this table.” 

“I’m attracted to you,” said Derek, like it was that easy to say. Which, for him, it might be.

Smooth fucker.

But then Stiles spotted the red glow at the tips of Derek’s ears, and that gave him courage. He wasn’t the only one feeling out of his depth.

The waitress put their food down in front of them while Stiles was still trying to reboot his brain and close his mouth.

With a level of desperation that was worrying, even for him, Stiles picked up the burger and shoved it into his mouth. 

“Ohmygob,” he mumbled, tearing the burger away to stare at it, eyes almost watering from the life-changing experience. “What is this?” He could barely get the question out before he attacked it again.

Derek took a moment to swallow before he answered. “Peanut butter burger? Did you not know?” He froze, and that was a worried Hale, right there. “You’re not allergic, are you?”

“No, not at all,” Stiles hurried to say, putting a hand over his mouth so he wouldn’t be completely disgusting. “This is just—I’m having an epiphany, man. I’m about to cry.”

Derek actually smiled— _he did, Stiles saw it_ —and dove back in, his fears relieved. 

They didn’t say a single word until they were both done, downing their blackberry pie shakes and kind of, just a little, not looking at each other.

“So I might just order whatever you do from now on,” said Stiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

Derek, again, hid a smile and ducked his head. 

And there was only so much Stiles could do to initiate conversation. He was desperately trying to get back that easy energy from the first minute of their meeting, but it was hard with this huge matrimonial elephant sucking all the air out of the room. 

“Uh, Laura had an idea for us,” said Derek, and now his entire face was turning red. “You don’t have to do it if you think it’s stupid, of course.”

“I love stupid stuff,” said Stiles without thinking, but really, that was pretty accurate. “Hit me with it.”

“Uh, okay. Since we kind of know each other, but not really, we say things we know, or think we know about each other. But when we run out, we have to speculate.”

“That could go very, very badly,” said Stiles, pointing his finger at Derek.

Derek folded his arms and raised his eyebrows, back to cocky so quickly. “Oh, I’m aware. But either it works, or it crashes and burns, and then I get to tell Laura that her idea sucked. Either way, it’s a win.”

Stiles leaned back and mirrored his body language. “Fine. I’ll go first. You’re a potstirrer. You like stirring the pot. Just figured it out.”

Derek _dimpled_ at him, and Stiles had a hard time not sliding under the table from it. 

“I’d say no if I didn’t think Laura would hear about it,” said Derek, pretending chagrin. “My turn. You didn’t mean to order the same thing as me. You just panicked.”

“That’s 100% true. You could have ordered 500 chicken nuggets like those Japanese high schoolers for all I knew.” Stiles took a moment to read Derek’s response. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, but you’re pretending not to.”

Derek turned bright red, and Stiles threw his head back and laughed for real. “Oh, I like this game. Please tell your sister she’s a genius.”

They got through the basics—age, best friends, family ties, hobbies, favorite sports. Stiles was surprised at how much Derek got right, and it gave Stiles the courage to admit how much he’d been paying attention over the years. Which was a lot.

There was a moment where Derek met his eyes, and Stiles steeled himself to hear _your mother died when you were 8_ , but then Derek guessed, incorrectly, that Stiles used to have a ferret.

As if Stiles’ dad was the type to allow rodents in the house.

He didn’t know if it was a copout or a handout, but he was relieved. He wasn’t quite ready to have the “dead family” talk, and guessed that Derek wasn’t, either. That was too heavy for a first—first date? Was that what they were doing?

Derek got a text and leaned back to fish his phone out of his pocket. “I’m so sorry. I forgot we’re going on our full moon run tonight.”

Oh, yeah. Stiles’ own weres would be doing the same. It was usually a good idea to run the night before, when the full moon would be at its peak during the day. Nobody liked the idea of wolfing out at 10am at your day job. 

“Our wise men must be finished with their ceremonies,” said Stiles, checking his own phone. He was shocked to see that it was already 8:30, and sunset was looming. Somehow, they’d been talking, only talking, for more than two hours.

Derek paid the bill before Stiles could even think of it, and guided him outside with a gentle hand on his lower back. They paused between Stiles’ Jeep and Derek’s ridiculously just— _ridiculous_ muscle car, which somehow he had missed on the way in. Nerves, Stiles thought, as both he and Derek tucked their hands in their pockets, reluctant to be the first to leave.

“Thanks for meeting me,” said Stiles, rocking on the balls of his feet. 

“Of course,” said Derek, and looked down and swallowed. After a moment (that felt like an eternity), he took a breath and listed forward a bit. “Before you go, can I—?”

Stiles didn’t know what he was asking, but that didn’t stop him from automatically nodding. 

Derek responded by stepping right into his personal space, close enough that Stiles could count his eyelashes if he wanted to. He cradled one heavy hand behind Stiles’ head, and rubbed his nose lightly up from Stiles’ neck to his temple, inhaling softly as he did it. Stiles had been scented plenty of times before, by Scott and by his own pack, but it never left him tingling, jumping out of his skin like this time. It took a firm resolution not to lean into the touch. Stiles forced himself to be content with closing his eyes and taking a breath, himself.

Of course Derek wanted to scent him. Stiles should have thought of that. Even normal humans relied on scent compatibility to chose partners, if on a lesser, more subconscious scale.

Stiles didn’t know—didn’t think he could handle knowing—everything that Derek’s werewolfy nose was taking in, but Derek smelled like the diner, and cologne, and old leather, and a soft tang of sweat. And a dozen things that Stiles couldn’t identify yet, but probably would someday. And wasn’t that a thought.

Too soon, an eternity too soon, Derek stepped back, and the world felt a little bare for it. “Thank you,” he said, his voice huskier than before, sounding trapped in his throat.

“Yeah, of course,” said Stiles, feeling himself getting fidgety. He hated goodbyes. He never knew how to time them right.

He wasn’t the only one.

“Later,” said Derek, turning abruptly and getting into his car, but not fast enough to keep Stiles from seeing that his face had gone bright red again.

“Later,” said Stiles, a little faintly, holding up his hand in what he hoped looked like a casual wave. 

Derek fled the parking lot, his tires spitting gravel, and then he was gone in a plume of dust.

Stiles was left staring after him.

Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a peanut butter burger in San Diego 8 years ago, and it still haunts me in the best way. If you don't believe me that it's delicious, 1) think about Thai peanut sauce, and/or 2) look at this recipe I found (traegergrills.com/recipes/beef/peanut-butter-burger).  
> Unless you hate/can't eat peanut butter, in which case, it's super disgusting and you're missing nothing.


	6. Jump in headfirst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday and Wednesday, May 29-30  
> Stiles is doing _fine_ , thank you, and Stiles and Derek make a game plan.

“I know, I know, Scott, but he must have said something.”

“Nope, nope. Not doing this. I am not going to be your go-between for information, starting right now. Whatever Derek may or may not have said about you within the safety of his own pack is now protected by the bro-code.”

Stiles caught the ball in his lacrosse stick and pouted. “ _I’m_ your bro! I am the original bro!”

“You’re both protected by the code. You should be grateful, not jealous.” 

True. Stiles had already said plenty of things about Derek’s, well, just pick a feature, that he would die if they were revealed. Stiles shrugged and pitched the ball back, and Scott caught it easily. It had been long, too long, since they had just played around like this, what with Stiles going to school three hours away and Scott getting closer and closer to the Beacon Hills pack.

Stiles was actually the opposite of jealous, though. It had taken years, years for Scott to stop rejecting Derek’s well-meaning, but heavy-handed, overtures of friendship. Sure, Derek had been pretty much telling the truth when he told Scott “We’re brothers now,” and “The bite is a gift,” but there is a time and place for statements like that, and over your dead uncle’s cooling body is not it. If it weren’t for Laura’s even-headed version of lycanthropy 101 and general cool-factor, there was a good chance Scott would have done something really stupid, like take his chances as an omega.

Stiles hurled the ball back as hard as he could, knowing Scott would catch it without a problem. “No, I’m just worried about what’s going to happen to your brain when you start thinking about your two bros gettin’ down to business with each other.”

“Please don’t do this. I’m begging you.” Scott looked genuinely wounded.

“I mean, other than Isaac, we are probably your two best friends, man. That’s gotta be weird for you.”

“Nah, it’s kind of great.” Scott smiled, all sun-shiney joy again, and pitched the ball so it landed straight into Stiles’ glove. “I’ll get to see more of you both. I didn’t think about it before, but you guys are kind of perfect for each other. Besides, you can try to freak me out, but I know whatever I feel won’t hold a candle to you when you really start thinking about your wedding night.”

Stiles flubbed the ball, and it rolled to a stop exactly in the middle between them. “Me? I’m cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.”

“Mm hmm.”

“I mean, it’s not like I’m standing in front of the mirror, having a crisis because I played video games all through college and never got around to having the perfect body. Like, just because he exercises for fun doesn’t mean I have to.”

“Oh, yeah.” Scott fetched the lacrosse ball—ha, fetch—and lobbed it his way. 

Stiles caught it, threw it back, and twirled his lacrosse stick in his hands like a bo staff. “And, I’m sure that Derek knows better than to expect me to be some sort of sex god. Like, I doubt even _he_ is a sex god, and he’s Derek Freaking Hale! He knows what he’s getting into. We’re just going to do our best, for the pack.”

“Yeah, you will.” 

Stiles twirled the lacrosse stick again, fumbled it, and almost hit himself in the face. He put it down firmly and leaned on it. “That’s all we can do, right? Just do our best. Don’t think about all the ways this could go sideways, just charge forward and hope for the best. Belief is a powerful thing, you know. I believe this is going to help everyone.”

“Good thing you’re not freaking out.”

“Yeah, man.”

Scott just gave him an understanding, sideways smile, and Stiles replayed everything he had just said. 

“Shit.”

 

* * *

 

“So, tell me if this is too soon and you want more time or whatever.” Stiles paced his room in the pack house and shoved his free hand into his armpit so he’d stop biting his nails. He’d manned up and called Derek, and he was regretting that so hard right now. What was he thinking? Texting was good. Texting had worked great last time.

“You want to meet again?” Derek’s voice over the phone was sincere, if touched with a bit of humor.

“If you don’t mind? I just think the better we can get to know each other ahead of time, the better we can adjust later.”

“I was about to call you, actually. We’re having a pack dinner tonight, but are you free after that?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect. You know Old Hat Reservoir?”

“Sure. 7:30?”

“Yeah, see you there.”

Derek hung up. 

How was it so easy to make plans with this guy?

Psychopath.

 

* * *

 

Stiles arrived at the reservoir park, a cooler in one hand and his phone in the other. He’d spotted Derek’s car right away, considering there was a grand total of five cars in the parking lot, but had yet to see his fian… no, too soon for calling him the f-word. He scrolled through his call logs until he found Derek’s number, which, yeah, yeah, he still hadn’t saved. He’d do that asap. “Hey, big guy, I’m here. Where you at?”

Derek’s voice, relaxed and a little soft, answered him. “If you’re facing the reservoir, go right past the big trees. The shade’s nice over here.”

“Roger that.” Stiles signed off and set off. He found Derek easily, sitting on top of a stone picnic table with his arms supporting him from behind. And really, Stiles did his best not to objectify people in general, but there was nothing wrong with appreciation.

“Hey,” said Derek, turning his way for a second with a shy smile before he faced the water again. “I got here early.”

“It’s nice,” said Stiles, meaning it. This was one of the state parks that was ridiculously crowded on the weekend, so he tended to avoid it, but how he was here on a Wednesday night he could see the appeal. “I come bearing ice cream. I hope there’s something you like, because I panicked and got, like, twelve different flavors.”

Derek’s eyebrows went up in alarm when he looked inside the cooler.

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles babbled. “I really wish I could have brought beer, this place is like, made for drinking beer, but since we’re both driving that’s out. Although now that I think about it, _you_ could drink alcohol, given your superpowers, and now I’m feeling dumb for buying you the kind of treats you give little kids, wow.”

“I like ice cream,” said Derek mildly, pawing through the selection until he fished out an orange creamsicle, which was so old-timey it was adorable. Stiles was starting to guess that Derek was a fan of all things vintage. Like Derek had just gone into cryogenic freezing sometime in the fifties or sixties and woke up Captain America-style in a world with Snapchat and Skrillex and wasn’t quite with it yet. 

Stiles settled on the picnic table next to Derek, careful not to encroach too much on his space, and wondered if Derek’s classic Danny Zuko vibe came from simple personal taste, or if there was a story behind it. Fortunately, that shut him up long enough for Derek to speak up.

“I wanted to ask a favor, before we got any further,” said Derek, but something about the way he said it made Stiles think this wasn’t a favor so much as a lifeline, possibly a dealbreaker if he said no.

“I’m actually kind of relieved, because I have something to ask, too,” said Stiles, grabbing a cone and tearing it open. “Alright, hit me. Let’s lay it all out on the table.”

“You don’t want to go first?” said Derek, ruefully hiding a smile, but not before Stiles saw it, he did, it was definitely there.

“I mean, I would absolutely love to go first, but I’ve got a pretty long list and think you would have better luck remembering it if you get your stuff out of the way.”

Stiles waited for Derek to say something, but Scruff McGruff was being stubbornly silent, so he heaved a mighty sigh. “Fine, I’ll go. Let’s see, I’m gonna need you to make pancakes every Tuesday, it’s a thing, just go with it. Um, you don’t have to wash all my clothes but you do have to wash my socks. I don’t like gardening, but I do like plants, so I’m thinking a cactus garden in a southern-facing window, and also a zen-garden sized 6 by 6 feet—”

“Shut up,” said Derek, and Stiles leaned back in smug satisfaction and licked his cone. “I want us to go to pre-marital counseling. Maybe marriage counseling, after.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped, but he forced himself to shut his mouth and shake off the surprise. “Oh. Yeah. That’s… that’s probably a good idea.”

“It’s just, this marriage, I—” Derek looked down, and his stubble rippled as he clenched the muscles on his jaw, that shouldn’t even be real, “—I want to get the best chance. I don’t know you yet, but I can’t go into this just expecting us to fail, and I’m pretty pessimistic about uh, relationships in general. My therapist suggested it might help my anxiety,” he ended, ears blushing red. 

“Deal,” said Stiles.

Derek looked taken aback that Stiles had agreed so readily, so Stiles shrugged. 

“I’ve been through my own shit, man. I don’t go to a therapist now, but I did for a while after my mom died, but that therapist sucked, and I had to look again when I was in college. Thank god I found a good one. I’m just saying. If you like your therapist, anything they suggest we do, I’m probably going to say yes.”

Derek’s eyes were glued to water below, but his shoulders went down by a whole two inches, so Stiles counted that as a win. 

“What about you?” said Derek, softly. “There has to be something you want. Other than pancakes.”

Stiles took a deep breath through his nose. “Uh. It’s kind of a biggie. Considering that your pack house is on the opposite side of Beacon Hills from us, I was wondering if we could live closer to the middle. I’m not suggesting we live outside of Beacon Hills, I know how important staying on territory is for werewolves, but if we could get an apartment on the east side of town it would cut down my commute by almost half an hour—”

“Deal.” 

Stiles stopped his mouth to take a good, hard look at the man beside him, and it was a good thing he did, because otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to witness Derek Hale when 100% of his attention was focused on you. It was heady. Like staring into a beautiful sun. With eyebrows.

“Deal,” Stiles repeated. 

Holy shit, this might actually work.

They talked a bit more, letting themselves lapse into silence every so often. Stiles found himself needing this time to process the commitment he was looking at, and having the subject of his thoughts there, available for questions, made it easier for him to do that. When the sun dipped behind the hills and the air cooled, they both headed back to their cars, speaking in more hushed tones. 

“I’ll call the number for the marriage counselor, see if she can fit us in soon,” said Derek, playing with his keys.

“Sounds good. Uh, think about what you’d like in an apartment, and I’ll start the search.”

Derek looked at him like he was trying to puzzle out a dozen mysteries at once. “Thanks for meeting me. It, uh, helps.”

Did it ever. “Yeah, me too,” said Stiles, swallowing. 

He expected that Derek would again make the first move to their cars, but the werewolf just shifted his weight uncertainly and looked away. It took a second, but Stiles guessed what the problem was. 

“Do you wanna scent me again?”

Derek didn’t answer for too long. 

“You always can, you know,” said Stiles, firmly. “My pack scents me all the time, so I don’t mind.”

Derek didn’t reply with anything more than a nod, and then he stepped closer, more slowly this time. Stiles felt a rush of breathless anticipation as Derek put his hand up, on the side of Stiles’ neck this time, and carefully rubbed his face against the other side. 

And Stiles—he was enjoying it too much, he knew, but then he got in his head and wondered if maybe Derek would see his lack of response not as a sign of respect but a sign of disinterest, which he didn’t want. He tentatively reached his left hand up and placed it on Derek’s lower back. 

Derek tensed and stepped away immediately. “I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to you later.”

Stiles pasted a smile on and waved goodbye, trying not to feel hurt. Maybe Derek was one of the 0.0001% of wolves who didn’t like personal contact. Maybe he just wasn’t attracted to Stiles. Fuck. 

But then he remembered the blush from Monday night. Tension, Stiles could be making up, but he hadn’t imagined the red painting Derek’s face. There had been _something_ there, something Stiles didn’t think was all in his head. 

Stiles got in his Jeep and drove home, pretending he didn’t know the exact number of days until summer solstice. 

It was 22.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having the time of my life reading your comments! Thank you so much for your encouragement and kudos! I'll try to respond to everyone because I really do appreciate them.


	7. From today, from now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday night and Thursday, May 30-31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the 2-week wait! I had to learn a valuable lesson about the importance of eating pro-biotics after taking antibiotics. Major props to all you guys with depression, because that little bit I experienced sucked.  
> To make it up to you, here's four chapters all at once!

He always had a room at Satomi’s pack house, but tonight he went to his dad’s. The cruiser was gone, meaning he was working a late shift, so Stiles went straight up to his old room to brood.

He tried not to be disappointed. Things had been going astoundingly well, after all. If Stiles could have, guilt-free, picked anyone from Laura’s pack, he knew he would have picked Derek. He was a little quiet, sure, but he knew Derek had plenty to say when the mood hit him. And the snark, and the consideration for others, and his loyalty to his pack…

Stiles threw his body down on his bed and groaned out loud. It was just… No matter how quickly they got to know each other, no matter how well they meshed, three weeks wasn’t enough time for them to feel ready. 

No matter how fast Stiles was falling.

Which was pretty fast, even for him.

The problem was, the more time he spent with Derek, the more he was convinced that Derek needed nothing more than the very best life had to offer. And sure, Stiles wasn’t going to rule himself out completely, but in an ideal world, they would have time to date. As much time as they both needed, until every step they took happened when they were ready. 

Derek hadn’t even let Stiles hug him. Whatever that meant.

His phone lit up and buzzed, so he unlocked the screen to see a message.

**Unknown number > Friday work for you for pre-marital counseling? **

**Stiles > yeah man I’m free all day**

**Unknown number > 2pm?**

Stiles just sent a thumbs up as an answer, then put down the phone.

Less than a minute later, feeling fidgety and wrong, he sat up, picked up his phone, and hit the call button. His knee jogged up and down on the bed while he listened to the ring tone.

“Stiles?”

“Hey, are you busy?”

“No.” Derek’s voice was soft, a little quizzical. 

“Okay. So I know this should, uh, probably be obvious, but we didn’t talk about it, and it would really help me if I could just hear the way you say it.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“Why did you decide to marry me? Like, are you doing it because Laura asked you to? If that’s the case, I totally understand, but I feel like you must have some underlying reason along with that.”

“Actually, Laura didn’t ask me. She was just talking it over with me, talking about how to explain it to the pack, and I offered.”

Stiles felt a warmth at those words and decided to leave the over-analyzing until later. “Why did you, then?”

“I care about my pack,” said Derek. “If there’s something I can do to make us stronger, I’ll do it.”

“I get that, on such a deep level, I do. But why not let someone else do it?”

“I,” said Derek, then he stopped. He paused long enough that Stiles pulled the phone away to check they were still connected. “I want to do something. To be the one making the difference. I’m usually the one that ruins… everything.”

Stiles waited for more, but Derek had said all he was willing to say. He remembered how Derek used to be; how he had come on so strong at the beginning that he had nearly pushed Scott away; how he had overcompensated afterward by being gruff and cold, to both Scott and Stiles. He thought about how Derek’s eyes turn blue, not gold, about how Scott didn’t know the story there but would die swearing that Derek was a good guy. 

Derek had secrets, which was something Stiles had always known in the back of his brain, but wasn’t relevant until now. Until they were staring marriage in the eye.

“Thanks for telling me,” Stiles said, quietly. There was so much he wanted to know and so little time, but he couldn’t bring himself to push for more, not tonight. Whatever spark of life was in their interactions now, he didn’t want to snuff that out.

“What about you?” Derek still sounded tentative, unsure that he was allowed to ask the same question. 

Stiles had to take a long moment to breathe and organize his thoughts. He wanted to tell the truth, without Derek finding out that he was such a colossal fuckup. “I’m afraid of being the one to ruin things. If I get bonded to a werewolf, it will help stabilize me, as a spark.” 

Derek hummed in agreement, and Stiles felt like he was acknowledging that they had both told the truth, but not all of it. Not yet. 

“It doesn’t hurt that you’re attractive,” came Derek’s voice, a little playful.

Stiles grinned and rolled over to his stomach, propping himself on his elbow as he held his phone to his ear. “Get out. You really think so?”

“And you think I’m attractive,” he continued, sounding smug.

Stiles chuckled. “Obviously.” Derek could have figured that out even without his spidey senses.

“I think it’s a good thing,” said Derek, quieter now.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, looking at the few stars he could see from his bedroom window. “I think so too.”

* * *

Stiles didn’t have to wait until Friday to see Derek again. As it turned out, their respective alphas and emissaries organized a meeting at a park in neutral territory, saying they needed to talk through the ceremony and contractual obligations.

As badly as Stiles wanted to duck his face and hide, they were right. The sooner they got this over with, the better. Although, he would be feeling a little better about it if Brett hadn’t followed him and Hideyo out the door singing “Let’s Talk About Sex” by Salt-N-Pepa, which was decades before his time, which meant he looked up the lyrics especially for the occasion.

“You know, your sideburns when you’re shifted are a thing of beauty,” grumbled Stiles as he stomped his way to Hideyo’s Hyundai Sonata. “I could make them permanent if you want.”

That shut him up. 

Hideyo looked at Brett’s pale face, then at Stiles smirking, then pointedly turned the keys and backed out of the driveway.

Stiles buckled his seatbelt and settled in. “You enjoyed that, don’t even pretend, sensei. Mimi told me you actually did it to her once.”

Hideyo ignored that, but he turned on the 90s R&B station, which was why he was one of Stiles’ top five favorite people.

* * *

They met Satomi in the parking lot and headed for a picnic table in the shade. Derek, Laura, and Deacon were already there, sitting all in a row and quietly talking, but they stopped when Derek looked up and waved.

“Greetings, Hale Pack,” said Stiles, waving his hand in an elaborate series of movements. 

Laura smiled easily at him. She knew him well enough to expect some weirdness, at least. “How much time do you have?”

“An hour, at least,” answered Satomi, sitting in the middle across from Laura.“We can skip dinner at home if necessary.”

Stiles had a choice between sitting in front of Derek or Deaton, which was a no-brainer. They were both scary, but where Deaton was scary in a vaguely creepy way, Derek was scary in a ‘what if, what if’ sort of way. Looking at him felt much like looking down from the high dive.

Derek gave him a friendly nod and looked away almost immediately.

Hideyo quirked an eyebrow at Deaton, who took it as a cue to start, leaning seriously on his forearms.

“As you know, the strength of the bond between the packs depends on the strength of the marriage. With that in mind, it’s imperative that the binding ceremony be meaningful, to both packs. That means no going through the motions or putting off anything until later. It’s a real wedding.”

Stiles swallowed and looked down at his hands, clasped on the table in front of him. He couldn’t believe he had asked for this, this crazy, impossible thing. He looked up to see Derek also looking down, clenching his jaw and looking overwhelmed. Stiles reached under the table with his foot and nudged it. 

Derek jumped and looked at him in bewilderment. Stiles only smiled at him, but it seemed to help. Derek relaxed, nodded his head, and offered the tiniest smile in return.

Deaton explained the ceremony in depth, including the thought process before each decision, so that Laura and Satomi could give their input. Fortunately, the emissaries had been conscientious, and there was very little that needed to be changed. The ceremony would culminate at dawn, just after 5:30 (Stiles shuddered), so they agreed to meet at the preserve at 5:00, and begin at 5:15. Both Satomi and Laura would give their blessing, the emissaries would speak and lead them in their vows, they would kiss, and then eat an early breakfast with whoever was loyal enough to show up. 

Usually, Stiles would find it intensely fascinating, how the two emissaries had worked together to pare down all the possibilities to the simplest plan possible, but mostly he was just staring at Derek’s bowed head, hoping this would work. Hoping it would be enough.

Hoping that Stiles would be enough.

“By the end of the day, sundown, you need to consummate your marriage,” said Deaton.

Stiles cleared his throat nervously and bit his lip. “Um, I hate to ask this, but are we talking penetration?” 

Derek looked up at this, his face frustratingly blank.

Deaton was well-prepared, thankfully. “Given that today’s definition of ‘sex’ doesn’t necessitate penetration, my guess is any way you engage in sexual activity would be acceptable. What matters is the intent behind it. If it’s significant for you, it will complete the binding.”

Laura was looking personally wounded by this conversation. Stiles was suddenly grateful that his dad wasn’t here for this. Stiles and his dad were big fans of boundaries. He didn’t ask the sheriff about date nights with Natalie Martin, and his dad didn’t ask about Stiles’… blue balls.

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Once the bond is in place,” said Hideyo, finally contributing, “both alphas should feel an increase of power, and connectivity to each other. Stiles will be more stable. The nemeton should be appeased with two packs available to protect it, and the wards on both our territories will also become stronger.” He leaned forward until he could look past Satomi and see both Stiles and Derek. 

“I am proud,” he said, speaking deliberately, “that you boys have chosen to do this for your packs. It shows a strength of character and loyalty that few possess.” 

Deaton and Satomi were both nodding, and Laura put a hand on Derek’s shoulder, her eyes shining. 

“In light of our gratitude,” said Satomi, sitting regally and cupping Stiles’ face with one hand, “Laura and I have decided to pay for your apartment for your first year of marriage.”

“Laur, no,” whispered Derek, “it’s too much.”

Laura rolled her eyes. “We have the money, Der-bear. We’ve agreed.” She smiled briefly at Satomi. “We want to do this for you.”

Satomi nodded approvingly at the younger alpha. “We’ll give you up to twelve hundred dollars a month. It should be enough for you to find a small, older house while you buy what you need and Stiles finds a job. If you need to downsize after the first year, it’s up to you.”

Stiles breathlessly hugged the old Japanese woman. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. 

This was a huge weight off his chest. Finding a job just hadn’t been practical yet, between his plan to get hitched and his constant battle for emotional balance. He had been counting on picking up the first sucky job he could find and putting almost all his wages into rent so he wouldn’t be freeloading on Derek—not a great plan, sure, but the best he could come up with at the time.

Honestly, he had just started looking at apartments that morning, but couldn’t bring himself to put Derek in an apartment building. Weres needed more space and quiet than that, and again. Derek deserved the best.

“Thank you,” he whispered to Satomi. 

She squeezed back for a moment, then patted him on the back. Back to business. Satomi was no sap.

They talked through some more details, mostly how to call on their new alliance when needed, and finished before the hour was over. They walked toward their cars, Laura going ahead to give Derek and Stiles the illusion of privacy. 

“You still haven’t told me what you’d like in an apartment,” Stiles said off-handedly, enjoying the way their arms brushed together as they walked.

Derek stopped. It took Stiles a moment, but he looked back, and Derek’s worried eyebrows were in full force.

“Did I tell you that I have a dog?”

“You have a dog?” Stiles could only repeat, in a louder voice.

“Yes?” Derek said slowly, a little surprised by his vehemence.

“No! You’ve gotta be kidding me, this is the best news ever! What kind?”

Derek was looking at him like he was mental, which, fair, but Stiles didn’t have the time to care right now. “She’s a, uh, a yorkshire terrier.”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open.

“She’s a rescue,” said Derek, a little defensively.

“Get outta here. What’s her name?”

“Uh. Chewie.”

“AS IN CHEWBACCA?”

Derek just stared at him, like he was afraid to say anything more.

Stiles threw his arms up. “This is the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard in my life, dude.”

“If you don’t want a dog, I totally understand,” said Derek, as if he hadn’t heard a word Stiles was saying. “Laura already said she would keep her—”

“Over my dead body, Hale. I mean it. Chewie stays with us. I will find her the perfect house with a yard and a dog park where she can run around and sniff all the other dogs’ butts. Does she need a pillow? I can give her my pillow. Oh, she probably already has a dog bed, huh? What does—”

“Alright, we’ll keep the dog,” said Derek, smiling at him. 

And that smile, damn. It had a way of shutting Stiles up and making him grin like an idiot.

Someone honked at them, and Stiles flailed around to catch Hideyo giving him the Look of Judgment. So much for that brief show of mentorly pride. He waved goodbye to Derek and jogged to Hideyo’s car, sliding into the front seat.

“He has a dog,” Stiles informed him.

Hideyo didn’t answer, but Stiles didn’t need him to. Hideyo had a soft spot for small dogs. Ultimate softie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm experimenting with chapter sizes, so let me know if this one is long enough!


	8. Pre-marital counseling for beginners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday, June 1
> 
> Derek and Stiles meet Morrell for their first marriage counseling session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a marriage counselor, so I was trying to look up information on pre-marital counseling online, but oddly enough, there wasn't anything on counseling a human-werewolf couple going through an arranged marriage. If there's an angle you think needs to be addressed, please comment below!

Their counselor, Marin Morrell, turned out to be Deaton’s younger sister. Her office was in her house, accessible by a path in the side garden, which was looking a little weedy. Well, they couldn’t be too picky. It’s not like marriage counselors with knowledge of the supernatural were falling off trees. 

She let them in with a smile and led them into a sun room, full of potted plants and sturdy furniture. There were two chairs at one end, slightly angled toward each other, and another opposite them with an antique table next to it. 

She sat next to the table and motioned for them to take their seats. Derek sat in his seat, somehow looking eager and trepidatious at the same time. Stiles sprawled out, out of habit, then gathered his limbs into a more mature arrangement. He was an adult. Here for pre-marital counseling. He’d better act like it.

“You may call me Marin or Ms. Morrell,” she began, crossing one knee over the other. “I got my master’s degree in marriage and family therapy, and have been a licensed counselor for nearly ten years now. I am also a druid, like my brother, which makes me uniquely suited to understanding the… emotional demands of your situation. Rest assured that you have my full support, both for your future relationship, and for your individual mental health.”

It sounded like bragging, but it was something that Stiles needed to hear. He felt himself relax again.

“Alan already explained your situation to me, and I realize we only have three weeks until the ceremony, so we will have to go faster than usual. Also, you will need to be exceptionally brave.”

“Brave for the ceremony?” clarified Derek, his eyebrows angled more severely than Wolverine’s. 

“In your interactions with each other. My job is to address the more difficult issues before your marriage, in order to prepare you as well as possible. You will have a hard enough time adjusting afterwards.”

Stiles cleared his throat. “How often should we come here?” Stiles’ schedule was more or less free, but whatever popped up, he would prioritize this. Just having a neutral third party to talk to was making him feel much better. 

“If you don’t mind, once a week until the solstice. After your marriage you will need a couple of weeks to adjust to each other before meeting again, at least twice. Whether you want more counseling after that is up to you.”

“Do you think we should have more?” asked Derek, leaning forward with a worried look on his face.

Marin leaned to the side, a little more casual now. “I honestly think you should have a checkup every year or so. You are under more pressure than other couples to make this work, and if you aren’t careful, that pressure can become a negative influence in your relationship.”

Stiles looked to his right and met Derek’s eyes, and after a beat, they both nodded. They were in this. 

“Now, my first question. Have you engaged in a physical intimate relationship yet?”

Stiles wanted to cry foul, say this question was too personal, but he had been freaking out about this for several days now. It might be, possibly, slightly relevant.

“I’ve scented him,” said Derek, and Stiles could not read his face or his tone at all, no matter how much he wanted to.

“And you, Stiles?”

“Oh, um. I haven’t really done anything, yet.” Morrell’s eyes narrowed at that, and Stiles gulped. “Is that, uh, a problem?”

Morrell looked down as she considered the question. “Every couple is different, so it’s up to you to decide how slow or fast you should go. That being said, I think it would be better to gradually introduce more physical contact before the binding ceremony. A physical relationship is an important aspect of building trust with the other person. If you cannot be physically vulnerable with one another, it’s better to know now, rather than later.”

“We’ll talk about it,” said Derek, and Stiles turned to see that he was now sitting forward, head bowed, staring at his hands.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, feeling a little croaky. Derek _said_ he was attracted to Stiles, but Stiles was feeling uncertain whether this so-called attraction was, like, attraction to the idea of helping his pack. Like, they’d be getting married no matter what, but Stiles wanted to know how little lovin’ to expect so he could give himself all the proper pep talks about pining from a very close distance.

It was one thing to look at all the evidence pointing to a happy ending, and another to overcome his own insecurities when the stakes were so high.

During the rest of their hour, Marin had them talk about the marriages they’d grown up seeing in their parents, and rightly called them out for putting them on pedestals. “Since you both experienced the loss of one or both parents at a younger age, your view of their marriages will be slightly more simplistic than they would now. If they did have good marriages, and I don’t doubt that they did, I promise that they were working hard at it.”

Stiles could see that she had a point. He might be asking his dad about it that night.

She gave them homework before they left, telling them to discuss what it would take for them both to consider their marriage a success, and what their ideal marriage would look like. 

Stiles met Derek’s glance sidelong and wondered if that way lay heartache.

At the end, they engaged in what was becoming their habit and stood in front of their respective cars, spinning their keys in their hands.

Stiles coughed. “So, hey, my dad was wondering when he gets to meet you. He’s insisting on making ribs, if you’re into that.”

“This weekend?” Derek was acting fidgety too, but at least he’d had the foresight to put his hands in his pockets. “I’m free both days after 3:30.”

“Oh, what’s before 3:30?” asked Stiles absently. Being nosy, as usual.

“I coach co-ed soccer for the rec department,” said Derek, a little self-consciously. “We have a game both days.” 

“Wow, that’s amazing news. Do you have a hat and a clipboard? Please tell me you wear khaki shorts.”

Derek chuckled. “You want me to send you a picture of me at the game?”

Stiles’ mouth popped open. “I want that so much, you wouldn’t believe.”

“So, Saturday or Sunday?”

“Uh, Sunday. We need time to marinate the ribs.”

“And our next counseling session is Tuesday. When do you want to, uh,” Derek shuffled awkwardly, “do our homework?”

“How about after dinner on Sunday?”

Derek nodded. 

Stiles felt their conversation coming to a close, and mustered his courage. “Hey, would it be alright if I hug you?” Derek hesitated, so Stiles hastened to say, “It’s fine if you say no, I just thought I should ask, given…” He cocked his head in the direction of Marin’s office. 

Derek only paused for half a second, which Stiles could read as either hesitance or just needing a moment to hear what he said. “Yeah, of course,” he said, stepping forward with his arms out.

Stiles gratefully wrapped his arms around Derek’s back, his t-shirt warm with bodyheat and sunshine. Derek did the same, but still held himself stiffly. Stiles could tell Derek was trying to relax, but only one body part at a time—like his arms went loose, and he slumped forward a bit, but the spine under Stiles’ hands was still uptight as ever. 

Stiles ended the hug first and stepped back.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Derek said. “I…”

Stiles waited for him to speak, feeling a little relieved that Derek recognized the same problem, at least. When it seemed like Derek was resigning himself to silence, Stiles decided to give him a little push. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” he said, modulating his voice carefully so that Derek wouldn’t feel accused of anything.

That seemed to be useless, though, since Derek winced. “It’s… it’s not you, I promise. I…”

“It’s not you, it’s me?” Stiles finished, chuckling a little bitterly, back to spinning his keys again. His internal engine was raring to get him out of here, away from this weird, ego-killing situation, but he forced himself to wait. They had to figure this out.

“It really is,” said Derek, stepping forward a little in concern, the sun sloping down the right side of his face. “You—I can’t even tell you how good you are, how much I want to, but I have some… I thought I could get over it, but I still…” 

Derek sighed in frustration and ran both his hands through his hair so it stood up a bit like Wolverine’s. 

“Derek, if you don’t want to do this,” Stiles swallowed, because as badly as he wanted Derek more than any other person, he couldn’t drag him into marriage, he really couldn’t, “we’ll find another way to protect the pack.”

“No, I do, I do, I’ll do better,” Derek started, but Stiles shook his head.

“Dude, even if you’re not ready, we can find some way to hold on until the fall equinox. Or just get married whenever, you know? That would be better than you pushing yourself into something you’re clearly uncomfortable with.”

Derek’s hands were in his hair again, but this time he just clenched and held on, taking deep breaths. 

“And,” Stiles continued, willing himself steady, “I could marry someone else. You could ask around your pack, just in case.”

“Is that what you want?” Derek looked hurt at that, and he put his arms down again, blinking almost fearfully at Stiles.

“No! But your emotional health comes first, Derek. It has to. I don’t know why it’s hard for you to let me touch you, but the last thing I want is to push you into something you don’t want.”

Derek stared at him, and his stance finally relaxed towards something like normal. 

“How about,” said Stiles, “you take some time to think about it again. If you think you can marry me or not. And you can just message me when you decide.” Derek was having trouble expressing himself verbally, so maybe writing would help.

Derek looked down, and he was nodding to himself. “Yeah,” he said, sounding quiet and spent. “Okay.”

“Just so you know, I do want to hug you, though,” said Stiles, mostly because of his lack of filter. “You’re like, super huggable. Like a big brawny Care Bear. And yes, I know there’s innuendo there, and I’m just going to go with it.”

And there it was, Derek blushing and smiling again. Because of Stiles. He looked up and stood a little taller. “Can I, um, scent you still?”

“Yeah, of course! I’ll just,” said Stiles, and instead of finishing his sentence, he snapped his arms to his sides. 

Fortunately, Derek took it for the joke it was, and laughed a bit as he stepped into Stiles’ space. Stiles stayed perfectly still, thinking that this might be the last time he could be this close to Derek, and the thought made him almost wince from sadness. 

If he ended up having to marry someone else, he would have to somehow stay far away from Derek Hale. For his own sanity.

This time, Derek raised both hands to Stiles’ face and brushed his thumbs under his eyes. Stiles stared into Derek’s eyes and started counting the colors there as he resisted the urge to lean forward, to close the distance between their lips—

Stiles closed his eyes in determination and took deep breaths. Derek’s hands smoothed down his neck, then gently propelled him forward so he was leaning against Derek’s chest, face turned to the side, neck exposed. Derek ran his cheek against Stiles’ neck in a slow rasp of facial hair, and Stiles shivered.

“Sorry,” muttered Derek, and Stiles raised his head to look at him. 

Derek’s pupils were blown out, just like Stiles’ must be. He brushed Stiles’ lower lip with his thumb. “You have this effect on me,” said Derek, the sound of his breathing filling the space between them.

“Me too,” said Stiles, feeling laid open and vulnerable.

Then, a change swept over Derek so quickly Stiles couldn’t trace it, and Derek stepped back, his expression shuttered and locked. 

Trying not to be hurt, but definitely suffering from emotional whiplash, Stiles was the first to step away this time. “I’ll see you,” was all he could say. If Derek decided he couldn’t do this, then obviously barbecue at his dad’s wasn’t going to happen. He couldn’t make himself stay here a moment longer, choking in doubt and indecision. 

This time, it was Stiles’ turn to drive off first, leaving Derek standing in the parking lot.


	9. The top of my list

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night, June 1
> 
> Derek has a full-on Darcy moment.

Stiles went to Satomi’s house and holed himself up in her library. Backup plans. He needed backup plans. 

Ever since he had opened his heart in an ill-fated attempt to find love last winter, he had been on a strict regimen of meditation and protective spells. The first spell, a love spell he’d found in one of Hideyo’s books, had just been kind of a joke between him and his lonely self on New Years’ Eve. The spell had promised companionship of the souls. What it had done was turned him into a magnet for possession.

It only took two days for the nightmares and things crawling on the edge of his vision to convince Stiles to come clean to Hideyo and Satomi. They were angry. With him, with themselves, with the fact that he had felt that lonely, and the pack hadn’t noticed. 

Stiles blamed nobody but his stupid self.

He went back for his final semester of school and changed all his plans. He’d had a summer internship lined up in San Francisco, a startup tech company that was extremely hard to get in with, but turned it down. His only priority was closing the highway that ran into his heart before something could take over and hurt the people he loved.

And wasn’t that the irony? Stiles had been so focused on romantic love that he endangered all the very real and present relationships in his life. He was part of a pack, for fuck’s sake. He should have known better than to think he was incomplete.

He shook off the self-recrimination and wrote down the most likely decisions Derek might make on a piece of paper, with plenty of space for notes and ideas under each one.

_1\. Continue with marriage_

And then Derek would sit there and suffer through Stiles touching him on their wedding night, hating it every second.

_2\. Delay until fall_

Very bad. It was a miracle Stiles had held on this long, but he was getting weaker every day.

_3\. Marry on a full moon_

Pros: Decently powerful, better than nothing, they could marry on either June or July 28th. Cons: Stiles would stabilize, but the marriage would do little to help the Nemeton, so it would only benefit his own pack. And Stiles wouldn’t blame Laura’s pack if none of them decided to sacrifice themselves on the matrimonial altar with little benefit to themselves.

_4\. Marry someone el_

Stiles couldn’t bring himself to finish writing that one. He buried his head in his hands. He didn’t know if he could be connected to Derek’s pack, see him every week, while trying to be in love with someone else. 

Stiles fell in love easy, he knew, but he had barely even touched the guy and he was already being pulled under. It probably didn’t help that he had always had an awareness of Derek through the years. Derek was beautiful and curt and sweet, and had a dark, mysterious past. Of course Stiles, with a burgeoning awareness of his sexuality, fixated on him a little. And the first time they’d talked in years, at the diner, time flew by. That night, it had been easier to talk to Derek than it was to talk to Scott. _Scott._

And then there were all the moments where one or both of them froze, and it was painfully awkward, but also bristling with that kind of tension that makes you obsess over everything you say or do and every confusing action takes on a hundred different possible meanings, and so much crazy potential for something _magical_ that you start to love the awkwardness, just revel in it and _swim_ in it.

Stiles slumped down on the table and pretended he could stay in the library forever. Safe from ghosts and demons and heartbreak, with books for company. Let him moulder there like Miss Havisham, only without the gross wedding cake.

The buzz from his phone woke him from his reverie. He picked it up—holy shit, almost 8 o’clock—and opened it, revealing a message from Derek.

It was a message. Not just a message, a _message_.

The type that takes a solid three hours to write, at least. 

He steeled his nerves and opened the message immediately. Even though nothing good ever comes from a long Facebook message.

_Dear Stiles,_

And wasn’t that just like him. Nobody starts messages like this anymore! Nobody! Only middle-aged parents and psychopaths.

_I’m sorry that my behavior has been sending mixed signals. I told the truth when I said I was attracted to you, and if you are still interested in marrying me by the end of this, I’d be honored to marry you in three weeks._

Ominous paragraph is ominous. Stiles reigned in his scowl. 

_One of the reasons I’m in therapy now is because of my new aversion to touch from anybody outside my pack. It’s hard for me to allow anyone to touch me if I don’t know them well, especially if they have romantic intent. Last winter, I dated a woman who turned out to be the darach. Because of that relationship, and several others, I have come to associate romantic touch with the intent to hurt me and my pack._

The darach. THE darach. The twisted druid who had been sacrificing virgins and guardians and warriors to feed the Nemeton with dark energy. 

Stiles imagined if he had found out the person he’d been dating had been responsible for the host of mutilated bodies in Beacon Hills. No wonder Derek was skittish. That would be enough to turn Stiles off from dating for at least a decade.

_The problem for me is that I want to touch you so, so badly, Stiles. To the extent that I’m scared. I trust you already, maybe because we’ve known each other for years, or because both Scott and your own pack have the highest opinions of you, or maybe because I feel that you are really one of the good ones. The fact that you are willing to marry an almost-stranger for the sake of your pack is evidence enough. And the fact that you are so careful to put me and my hangups at ease… I can’t believe how lucky I am to have even met you._

_I trust you, but I don’t trust myself. I feel pulled in to you like you have your own kind of gravity, but then I start to think it’s all too good to be true. That I’m putting the pack in danger again because of my own desire for connection._

Stiles’ breath hitched at that. It was like Derek was writing out the words that had been in Stiles’ mind all semester, but in reference to himself.

_I can’t imagine how frightening it must be to marry someone who has a hard time showing he’s attracted to you. I can’t promise I will get better soon, and I’m afraid of our wedding night. I’m not so scared of you touching me, as I am of getting in my head, lashing out, or pushing you away as a reflex._

_Today, you went to pre-marital counseling with me, you asked me for permission to hug me, you let me scent you. You did all these things to reassure me, and instead of doing the same for you, I filled you with doubt. I’m sincerely sorry for that. If you still choose me, it will probably not be the last time that I let you down. But I promise that I will do everything in my power to treasure you the way you deserve._

_Derek_

Stiles put his phone down and took a deep breath, rubbing the palms of his hands into his eyes. 

Of _course_ Derek had been screwed over by past relationships. Fuck. Stiles had known it was the probable cause, but he’d been hoping it wasn’t that, because Derek had been through enough already, losing most of his family as a teenager, being forced to help his sister kill his uncle, and start a new pack from nothing.

He’d really, really hoped it wasn’t because of more trauma.

However, Derek’s message filled him with a sense of lightness, and purpose. If Derek really was attracted to Stiles as he said, he had to believe that they would get through this. They both had to believe.

Stiles listened to the sounds of the pack house. Fridays were reality television nights, when everyone gathered to watch old episodes of House Hunters International and make every kind of food on a stick. He could hear the television playing softly, and smell the yakitori grilling in the backyard. It was a full house, but everyone had somehow known to leave him undisturbed in the library. 

Stiles’ heart was full, both for his pack, and for Derek, baring his fears and insecurities for scrutiny. He didn’t let himself question his next impulse, and called Derek.

After two rings, Derek picked up. “Stiles?”

“Hey,” said Stiles, feeling warm just at the sound of his voice. “I got your message.”

“Yeah,” said Derek, a little lamely.

“Of course I still want to marry you, Derek. If you’re sure.”

“I’m really sure,” he said quickly. “I just—you need to know it’s not going to be easy with me.”

“Me, too,” said Stiles, searching for a way to let him know he got it, he really did. “That’s the thing. I haven’t annoyed you yet. You need to start expecting that, because these days I’m a lot better at not pushing people, but there’s always going to be some little brat in me that tells me to push people’s buttons. And I get really competitive about the stupidest things. And I have a hard time letting other people steer conversations, you know, my ADHD is better than before but it’s always going to be a little harder for me than for other people.”

There was a breathy noise like Derek had laughed a little through his nose. “I’m still sure.”

“And I might get clingy, and if I do I don’t know if it’s better for you to just tell me to back off or put up with it a little, because I’m also pretty insecure sometimes.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Okay, that’s. That’s good,” said Stiles, sinking down into his chair and looking down at his list of panic and sadness. He took his pen and started crossing out options two through four. “So we’re still on for dinner Sunday night?”

“Yeah, sounds good to me. What time?”

“Um, is five too early?”

“No, that’s perfect. I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. Uh, Derek.”

There came a questioning noise over the line.

“Thank you for telling me. And, you know, trusting me.”

“You’re welcome,” said Derek’s voice, sounding affectionate now.

“Sunday.”

“Sunday.”

Stiles hung up the phone, and the house outside the library door burst into noise, cheering and clapping and catcalling. Stiles threw his head back and just laughed with relief.

Brett stuck his head through the door. “Come on. You’re missing a lesbian couple in Lesbos. It’s freakin’ magical.”

Stiles jumped on Brett’s back, which he put up with grumpy grace, and they made their way to the living room, full of twelve of his favorite people.

 

* * *

 

The next day, at 2:14 p.m., he received a picture on Messenger. It was Derek, posing in a polo shirt, hat, dad sunglasses, and a whistle between his teeth. The caption said, _Did I leave anything out?_

Stiles laughed in delight. _Where are the khaki shorts?_

There was a second picture, and he was indeed wearing khaki shorts to the soccer game. _Sorry, no cargo pockets_

_Fine_ , Stiles wrote back. _9/10_

Derek sent back a frowning emoji with angry eyebrows. 

Stiles didn’t set the picture as his phone background. Nope, he had a screenshot of their entire conversation for that.


	10. We can see for miles up here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday, June 3
> 
> Dad finally gets his ribs barbecue.  
> Sorry, everyone who's a diehard #thesherriffsnameisJohn fan. I get it. But for some reason I had to use "Noah" in this chapter. 
> 
> Chapter title is from [Me & You by Honne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SB4Jra4zR80/), which you should absolutely check out if you're a modern disco fan like myself.

The doorbell rang just as Stiles was about to start spinning in anxious circles. It was 4:59, Sunday night, and Derek just couldn’t bring himself to be anything but early.

Stiles rolled his eyes and opened the front door. “You’re late,” he said flatly.

Derek looked around like there was a clock somewhere behind him. “Really? I’m so sorry—”

“He’s messing with you,” said his dad, pulling Stiles to the side with the ease of long practice. “Glad to meet you. I’m Noah, Stiles’ dad.”

Derek took his offered hand and shook it. “Thank you for inviting me. I brought some coleslaw.”

“Ooh! Gimme!” said Stiles, crowding forward again, grabbing the container and peeling off the lid. Both he and his dad looked in, a little speechless. 

Derek noticed their silence and shuffled nervously. “It’s, uh, jicama and apple.”

“Hickabuh?” said Noah, trying gamely not to wrinkle his nose.

“Jicama.”

“Hickooma,” tried Stiles.

“Yeah,” said Derek, clearly giving up. 

“Well, I for one am very excited to try something new,” said Stiles brightly, clapping his dad on the shoulder.

“Uh, come in and make yourself comfortable, Derek. It’ll only be two minutes before we’re all ready,” said the sheriff, taking the coleslaw with him with a slightly pale face.

“I hope he likes it,” said Derek, frowning after him in worry.

“No offense to your culinary skills, but I might be disappointed if he did,” whispered Stiles, conspiratorially moving closer as he watched his dad walk away. “This is fantastic. He thought he could guilt me into letting him have ribs with no consequences, but you pulled through in the clutch and brought a salad he’s probably terrified to try. This is perfect. Very well done. Thank you for giving karma a hand.”

“If he doesn’t like things like that, he doesn’t have to—”

“Oh, no, but he does. He really, really does. And while so far you’ve shown excellent taste in burgers, I don’t know if you’re actually a good cook or not. It doesn’t even matter. You know why?”

Derek was staring at him with a mixture of awe and horror. “Scott wasn’t exaggerating at all. You go a little crazy when it comes to what your dad eats.”

“Oh, Scott never tells the whole of it,” said Stiles, rubbing his hands together and not bothering to hide his glee. “He’s too nice. Anyway, either my dad loves it and has to admit he likes something healthy, or he hates it and has to suffer. Like I said. Karma. Either way, we win. Welcome to the war, Specialist Hale.”

“So you’re saying you would like me to broaden your dad’s palate with healthy food.”

Stiles beamed. “Look at us. We’re already reading each other’s minds.”

* * *

The jicama coleslaw was such a hit with his dad that Noah went through the motions of asking how to make it. Stiles knew his dad would never get farther than eyeing jicama at the grocery store and chickening out, but it was a nice effort.

They stuck to talking about baseball and coleslaw while they ate, since they were too busy demolishing dinner to go in-depth. It was amazingly comfortable with Derek there, and the only better thing than how Derek let his knee carefully rest against Stiles’ leg was the thought that they might be doing this often. 

Stiles felt like he was glowing, looming speech from his dad aside. The ribs were every bit as good as his dad promised, the beer was giving him a loose buzz, and the heat from the perfect weather was warming him from the inside out. 

“Have you figured out where you’re living?” asked his dad when he wiped his hands on a wet napkin and threw it down.

Derek looked at Stiles before he answered. “In Beacon Hills, but on the east side so Stiles isn’t so far away.”

“We’ve still got to figure out what else I need to look for with apartments,” said Stiles. “I got a little sidetracked by Dog! Derek Hale Has A Dog!”

“Maybe we can talk about it tonight if there’s time,” said Derek, nodding seriously. “After, you know, our homework. By the way, Laura’s jealous that your dad gets a dinner but not her, so she was wondering if you could come over tomorrow. Only if you’re not too busy, though.”

“I’m working at Garcia’s store tomorrow until six, but I can drive over right after that,” said Stiles, getting out his calendar app. Four years of university and he never had to use it until now. “And then our next counseling session is Tuesday, right?”

“Right,” said Derek, opening his own phone to double check. 

“Is it like this for every couple the month before the wedding?”

Derek just gave a bewildered laugh at that, and Stiles’ father cleared his throat. “I know you have a lot to do and talk about before you get married, but try not to stress too much about it. It’s alright if you don’t have it all together at the beginning. Claudia and I, we…” He stopped to laugh and fondly roll his eyes, “we lived in her parents’ basement for a good six months before we even had our own place. It was convenient, what with Stiles being born and all, because his grandparents were able to help us, but we—”

“Hold up,” said Stiles, narrowing his eyes and putting his phone back in his pocket.

The sheriff took a sip of his beer and waited patiently.

“How long were you married when I was born?”

Derek was watching them both with wide eyes like he didn’t know if he should be present for this.

Noah looked to the side as he tried to remember. “Two months? Three?”

Stiles leaned forward in glee. “You never told me this! Was I—did you knock mom up?”

Noah winced a little and nodded.

Stiles leaned back again and roared in laughter. “And this just never came up? I mean, I knew you weren’t married long before you had me, but wow! Way to do the right thing, dad!”

“It’s not my fault you never did the math,” grumbled Noah. “I already knew I wanted to marry her someday. Just not, you know, when we’d been dating for only a few months.” 

“And thus began the epic love story of Noah and Claudia Stilinski.” Stiles couldn’t stop grinning. 

“The point I’m making,” said his dad, forcefully getting back on track, “is that the beginning is important, sure, but a marriage isn’t made at the wedding when you choose each other in front of an audience. It’s made every single day after that, again and again and again, when you’re choosing each other in the privacy of your own home. You have to choose each other every day.”

Stiles glanced at Derek, whose eyebrows were in full force, and smiled tentatively at him. Derek surprised him by picking up his hand and enclosing it in both of his. Stiles was terrified, but there was no way he was going to take his hand back. “Thanks, dad,” he said, and he meant it. It wasn’t often his dad talked about his mom. 

“Now, I’ve got to skedaddle. The station called me ten minutes ago and I’ve been putting them off long enough.” Noah wiped his mouth one more time on his napkin and stood up. Derek stood up respectfully, like this was the freakin’ regency era, and Noah waved him back down. “Derek, I’m very pleased to meet you. We’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other later. Stiles,” he said, pointing at him and looking menacing, “I expect at least one sixth of that strawberry rhubarb pie waiting for me in the fridge when I get home. Do _not_ give it all to Derek to take home.”

“Don’t you Harrison Ford me!” protested Stiles, swiping at his dad’s pointer finger. “You leave early, no pie!”

Derek snorted at Stiles and turned scarlet in mortification, taking a sip from his beer to hide his face. Stiles would preen if he weren’t preoccupied with _saving his father’s life._

“Derek,” said the sheriff, “I’m counting on you. One sixth.”

“Yes, sir,” said Derek, settling back in his chair and putting an arm around Stiles’ shoulders.

That easy show of affection distracted Stiles long enough for his dad to get out.

“You!” sputtered Stiles, pointing at Derek. “Already you’re working for the enemy!”

“Who’s Harrison Fording who now?” Derek lifted his eyebrows innocently. “I’m scoring brownie points for later.”

“Fine,” Stiles conceded, but only because Derek’s bicep resting across his upper back was interfering with his thinking capacity. “But you’re helping me clean up.”

“Of course,” Derek agreed easily.

“You’re a total doormat, do you know that?” joked Stiles, leaning his head back so he could look at Derek’s face. 

“That’s my strategy.”

“No, you’ve gotta learn to negotiate the way my dad and I do. Everything’s a negotiation here.”

“Okay.”

“No, see? You’re doing it again. You can’t just say okay to everything I tell you to do.”

“Got it.”

Stiles groaned in exasperation, and Derek laughed easily, leaning his head back so his neck was exposed. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat.

“What?” said Derek, sobering a little.

“You really do trust me. Already.”

“Yeah.” Derek’s smile was still there, but softer now. “Somehow. I do.”

They put away the leftovers before the flies could get to them and cut into the strawberry rhubarb pie that Stiles had bought from the closest grocery store, carrying their slices on paper plates. Stiles led Derek to the hammock at the far end of the yard, predicting that Derek would like the shade in the old walnut trees there. They sat perpendicular on the hammock, reclining with their plates on their stomachs, pleasantly squished against each other from knee to shoulder. 

“You know,” said Stiles, already turning red, “I always pictured bringing someone home and sitting here together. It’s kind of the perfect spot, huh?”

Derek nodded in agreement and got lost in his own thoughts for a minute. “I like your dad,” he said finally. 

“Yeah,” said Stiles, pulling his fork between his lips to clean it. “Me too.” Before their thoughts could turn to Derek’s depressing lack of parents, he added, “He likes you, too. Maybe more than me.”

Derek opened his hazel eyes wide and ate his pie in innocent silence. He was like Hideyo in that he was able to tease you with what he _wasn’t_ saying. 

Stiles gasped in outrage. “I take it back. I’m the favorite and always will be.”

Derek stole a bite of pie from Stiles’ plate just to be a little shit. “So what are we supposed to talk about? The ideal marriage and…?”

“And what success would look like.” Stiles puffed out his cheeks and leaned forward to toss his plate on the ground, and Derek did the same. 

“You’re nervous,” said Derek looking over his shoulder at him.

“Yeah.” Stiles interlaced his fidgety fingers and put them on his stomach, leaning back. Derek copied him, and they both looked up. “I’m afraid that talking about this is going to just emphasize all the ways we could be less than ideal, you know? Me specifically. It’s like making a list of all the ways I’m going to let you down.”

“That’s how I feel, too.” Derek kept his gaze focused upwards even when Stiles turned his head to look at him, and he planted one foot on the ground so he could rock them gently back and forth. “And I’m afraid that if I say what I want, you’ll think it’s unrealistic.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles softly. “That too.”

Derek rolled slightly so he could see Stiles more easily, probably using that werewolf core strength to stay in place. “What if we think of it in terms of wants and needs? So we can agree on what to prioritize, and anything after that we can give is icing on the cake?”

Stiles clicked his fingers and pointed at Derek. “That. Is a very good idea.”

Derek’s eyes traveled to Stiles’ finger, and he smiled lazily. “I’m going to think of Harrison Ford every time you do that.”

“You’re welcome. I didn’t realize it was such a Stilinski habit until tonight,” said Stiles. “Okay, I’ll go first. We have to live together. That’s a need.”

“And get close with each other’s packs so we can be a bridge between them.”

“Yeah. That might be harder for you than for me, because I already have Scott in your pack.”

Derek nodded in agreement. “We have to rely on each other so we can build trust, since our trust in each other is the foundation of the alliance.”

“We have to make decisions together, I think,” said Stiles, thinking about it. “Or else we won’t really be partners.”

Derek swallowed. “We have to… physical contact. We need physical contact. Because I’m a wolf, I need it to feel close to someone.”

“I need it too, by now. Being in a werewolf pack has made me really clingy.” Stiles leaned a little harder into Derek, just a nudge. “This is nice.”

“Yeah,” said Derek, smiling at him, then furrowing his brow in concentration. “Touching you like this, without expecting… more… it helps.”

“Good to know,” mumbled Stiles, because now that he was focusing on the feeling of Derek’s body crowding against his on the hammock, he was having trouble staying focused again. He nodded briskly, more to wake himself up than anything else. “Alright. So, what did we say? Live together, rely on each other when we have problems, uh, get close to each other’s packs, what else?”

“Make decisions as a team, and physical contact.”

“And Derek,” Stiles swallowed, “I know we have to have some kind of sex the day of the wedding—er, binding ceremony—”

He felt Derek tense, and he stopped rocking the hammock.

“—but after that, whatever sexual contact you want to have is up to you, okay? It can be nothing if that’s what you want. I just wanted to tell you that I don’t expect you to, uh, put out.”

Derek looked like he wanted to laugh at Stiles’ wording, but he shook his head, looking like he was arguing with himself. 

“Don’t get me wrong, I am very interested in having sex with you,” Stiles hurried to say. “But I’m a grown man. I learned a long time ago that my sexual appetite isn’t anyone else’s obligation. Oh, shit. I just quoted the sex talk from my dad directly. Oh, fuck. That’s disturbing. I wish it wasn’t so burned into my brain, but here we are.”

Derek laughed, shaking the hammock with his body. “It couldn’t be worse than when my dad encouraged me to, quote, _practice by myself_ so I could practice coming without wolfing out.”

Stiles gaped in horror. “He did not!”

“Werewolf culture.”

Stiles laughed. “I literally never thought about that. Like, I remember Scott freaking out a little when he first started dating, but of course a werewolf family would have to talk to their kids about outing themselves.”

“Laura made me give Scott the talk when he joined the pack. No wonder he hated me for so long.”

Stiles squirmed in delight. “Tell me. How did it go? Was he just horrified the whole time?”

“Fuck no!” Derek exploded. “I was the traumatized one. He had way too many questions. I thought he got half of them from you, honestly.”

“We’ve really known each other for a long time, haven’t we?” said Stiles, attempting to roll over like Derek but face-planting into his chest. He tried to roll back and give Derek his space, but Derek stopped him with a hand on his back and started smoothing a hand over his shirt. Stiles gave up and let himself snuggle to his heart’s content.

“Yeah, we have,” said Derek. 

They lay quietly for a while, Stiles listening to the beat of Derek’s heart. When Derek spoke again, it rumbled through his chest into Stiles’ ear. “If we keep the packs safe,” he said, “and you don’t regret tying yourself to me, then I’d consider our marriage a success. Those are the two things I’m most worried about.”

“Me, too,” said Stiles, his eyes unfocused so all he could see was the blurry blue color of Derek’s shirt. “That’s, like, exactly how I feel.”

“You’re not worried about yourself?”

Stiles thought about calling Derek out on the same thing, but figured it wouldn’t change anything. “Like you said before. I just don’t want to cause problems. I want to fix things for once.”

He felt Derek’s hand slow its rubbing motion on his back, and prayed that Derek wouldn’t pry. 

He could barely admit to himself that he didn’t think he deserved a happy ending.


	11. The Hale pack at home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday, June 11  
> Stiles gets some quality time with the Hale family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has the beginning signs of a panic attack and calls someone for help. If that might be triggering for you, you can stop reading at the section break and skip to the asterisk (*).

Stiles did his shift at Garcia’s store, mostly stocking things in the back because he didn’t speak Spanish worth crap, and most of Garcia’s clientele spoke nothing else. Once he hit six o’clock, he clocked out, gave Garcia a high five, and drove straight to Beacon Hills. Garcia obviously didn’t need Stiles around, but sitting around Satomi’s house and playing Mario Kart all day was getting super old. Stiles was an adult, dammit. He needed a job for his own sanity.

The Hale pack house was an old farmhouse bordering the preserve, in possession of a massive front porch and surrounded by native plants and grasses. The house itself was two stories, and sprawled in a way that suggested to Stiles that there was more house hiding in the back. For all the time that Scott spent here, Stiles had never been, but that was normal for an Alpha’s house. Alphas tended to keep their homes reserved for pack only. 

The fact that Stiles was here at all just drove the point home. He and Derek would serve as a bridge between their packs and be welcome in each. He swallowed nervously and opened the waist-high iron gate, closing it behind him carefully because

_holy shit_

_fluffy_

_torpedo_

_coming in hot_

“Chewie!” he exclaimed, dropping to his knees to greet the ball of fur and tiny paws and beady black eyes that was currently scrambling all over his feet. “Look at you with your belly and your _paws_ , I swear this is the best thing that ever happened to me.” He rubbed the yorkshire terrier’s belly as she squirmed from side to side in excitement and couldn’t help the goopy, ridiculous voice coming out of him. “Listen. I’m not usually like this, but I’ve got a Jeep with a quarter tank of gas and a thirst for adventure. How do you feel about a road trip? Just you and me. We’ll solve crimes and start an Instagram account and it’ll be like Kim Possible and Ron Stoppable.”

“I’m not invited?” Derek was walking to him, ducking his head and sticking his hands in his pockets. He was wearing white shorts and a short-sleeved denim shirt and Stiles’ mouth fell open for a moment.

“Uh, I’m not sure you’d want to. The only spot available is Rufus, and I don’t think you’d want to be the naked mole rat.”

“What, I can’t be Wade? He gets out once in a while, right?”

Stiles grinned at Derek so hard he almost went speechless. 

“What? Cora and I watch it sometimes.”

“I’m so happy that you have Disney Channel. This opens up so many avenues for conversation. Is Cora here?” Stiles dusted his hands off on his pants and reluctantly stood up from where he’d been crouched, petting Chewie.

“Yeah, inside. It’s just her, Laura and Jordan inside.” Derek turned toward the house, and Stiles followed him up the gravel path to the front door.

“Jordan your brother-in-law,” Stiles clarified.

“Right. They got married a year and a half ago.”

“Cool. I’m sorry I didn’t bring anything. I thought about it, but then the idea of bringing anything to the house where you made that coleslaw overwhelmed me with feelings of unworthiness.”

“You came straight here after work,” said Derek, opening the front door and ushering him inside. “I’m just glad you could make it.”

“Whoa,” breathed Stiles when he walked inside. The wood floors creaked pleasantly under his feet as he walked in, clearly old but newly refinished. Light poured through the windows and bounced off the light-colored walls, and the staircase ascending to his left had been lovingly restored so it shone with a deep umber undertones. 

There was a low undercurrent of music playing, with a comforting, scratchy quality to it that Stiles realized could only come from a bona fide record player. He was tempted to hunt for it, but Laura came hustling from the back of the house to hug him and possessively wipe her scent all over him. He tolerated her attentions with good grace. It was an alpha thing. Satomi would have been like that if she wasn’t older than the television and repressed her emotions better than a Soviet spy. 

“I’m so excited for you to be here,” she said, rocking him from side to side and ruffling his hair with one hand. “You feel like pack already, minus the pack bonds.”

“Laura,” said Derek, sounding more growly than Stiles had heard him in years. 

“What? I’m just giving him a proper hello.” Laura was just slightly shorter than Stiles, but she somehow found a way to tuck him under her arm and lead him further into the house.

“This place is amazing,” Stiles said, laughing at her possessiveness and just going with it. “It’s like Chip and Joanna Gaines went to town in here.”

“Yeah, that’s all Jordan. I swear marrying me was just an excuse to bring out his inner Fixer-Upper.”

“Hi, Stiles,” he heard, and Laura’s husband walked out of the kitchen, whisking a bowl of something white. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, you too.” Stiles had seen Jordan a few times in Scott’s photos. He’d always looked nice, but a little… meh? But that was probably just because Derek was in the same group shots, and that just didn’t do favors for anyone. But now, seeing him and Laura in the same room, giving each other a chaste smack on the lips, he was getting all sorts of cute couple feels. Ugh. Newlyweds. 

Brown hair flashed in the corner of his eye, and he just went limp, knowing what was coming next. Cora made it her hobby to carry him around like a giant teddy bear. “Finally you come see me!" she cried into his ear, making him wince. "I was about to kidnap you and give you the shovel talk.”

Cora was probably the Hale he knew best before this whole arranged marriage thing happened. She and Scott had dated for a hot millisecond before they figured out their relationship needs were completely incompatible. She was currently in a non-relationship with another of Laura’s betas, Isaac Lahey, in which they were always going on not-dates and having multi-hour not-conversations on the phone. Stiles had been relieved that neither Isaac or Cora had taken the hit to marry him, since he was a pretty die-hard supporter of their whatever-they-wanted-to-call-it. 

Whenever he hung out with Scott and Laura’s pack, everyone their age usually snuck off to drink wolfsbane moonshine or, in Stiles’ sorry case, wine coolers, then lay in the grass and look up at the stars until they passed out. Cora was annoying, but it’s hard to hate someone with memories like that.

“Actually, I haven’t had a proper shovel talk yet, if you want to get it out of the way,” said Stiles, letting her hoist him over a shoulder and spin him around. 

“That’s not necessary,” said Derek, trying unsuccessfully to grab Stiles and put him safely back on his feet.

“Yes! I’m so ready for this,” said Laura, sitting cross-legged at the nearby dining table and reaching for her glass of wine, for gravitas probably.

“First of all,” said Cora, grabbing Stiles by the upper arms and holding him up easily in front of her (Stiles kicking his feet just to be contrary), “you make him cry, we make you cry, and then we take pictures and send them to Brett.”

“Brett’s the one who’s always pranking people, right?” said Jordan, rustling around in the refrigerator.

Stiles made big eyes at Derek and mouthed _help me_. Derek made another lunge for him, catching him around the middle and gently putting him back on the ground. Chewie danced around his feet as Stiles just kinda froze and let Derek disentangle himself, then stand a few feet safely away. Probably because Derek could sense Stiles getting hot and bothered from all the manhandling. 

Stiles sat down across from Laura to give him some space. And maybe also to hide his disappointment. Hey, Rome wasn’t built in a day. He reminded himself not to be too greedy. He’d already gotten some cuddling the day before when they were lying on the hammock. It was just that the cuddling was _so good._

“Oh! I’ve got one!” said Laura. “If you don’t make my baby brother feel like the prettiest belle at the ball, I’ll remove your reason not to wear a dress. How was that?”

“Not your best, honestly,” said Cora.

“Pretty gender-normative,” added Derek, sitting next to him. Hey, it wasn’t cuddling, but Stiles would take what he could get.

“I think she ripped that one off from Cinderella,” continued Cora, circling around the kitchen island. “And maybe George of the Jungle.”

Laura started protesting loudly. “Hey, all my best threats are for werewolves. I can’t exactly threaten to punch him so hard his intestines come out the other side. With him that’s straight up murder.”

“This is a really fun conversation time for me,” said Stiles dryly. Derek acknowledged him by chuckling and hooking one of his feet around the leg of Stiles’ chair.

“Jordan, you’ve got this,” said Cora. “The family reputation is at stake.”

“Alright, I’ll give it a shot.” Jordan put both hands on the counter and looked Stiles in the eye, speaking confidently. “If you do something that warrants a lecture, I will sit you down and tell you what you’ve done wrong and why it’s harmful to the people you care about.”

“Ooh,” said Cora, shuddering, and Laura and Derek winced. Hard.

“That seems… reasonable?” said Stiles, sneaking a look at Derek’s face.

“Jordan is the best at guilt-tripping people. That’s a brutal threat,” said Derek, face emotionless.

“I say it’s because he’s southern,” said Laura, leaning back and surveying her husband proudly. “He knows just how to get you in the gut, while sounding like he’s complimenting you.”

“And he’s a deputy,” contributed Cora.

“Ah,” nodded Stiles. “Say no more. My dad’s lectures make me want to hide under the bed.”

The conversation turned to the Beacon Hills and Beacon Heights police departments after that, including who was and wasn’t in the know when it came to the supernatural. Jordan and Cora served up the meal they’d made, which was all Venezuelan food that Cora had gotten addicted to when she was hiding in South America. She coached Stiles in how to make the perfect arepas, and heaped extra rice and black beans on his plate before he had the chance to ask for more. 

“I had no idea you could cook like this,” said Stiles, with a proper degree of worshipful adoration. Beans were _not_ supposed to be good. Ever. She was blowing his mind.

“The family that took me in after the fire had a restaurant,” said Cora, smiling fondly. “They convinced me to go to business school. After I graduate, I want to get a food truck.”

“I am so happy to hear that, you don't even know,” said Stiles, leaning back from his chair. “I want to eat this always. Are you the one that taught Derek how to make that salad?”

“Everyone cooks except for me. Being the alpha and all that,” said Laura, waving her hand magnanimously.

Derek snorted. “She’s been banned from the kitchen, more like. She keeps microwaving forks.”

“Oh, come on! The first one doesn’t count! I was super sleep deprived.”

Jordan just met Stiles’ eyes and mutely shook his head. 

Sitting at the table with the three Hale siblings and Jordan, Stiles felt like he was looking at something like a Michelangelo painting. They’d had the shittiest luck, but Laura, Derek, and Cora had reformed their family into something new and beautiful. 

He felt guilty. He was elbowing his way into this family because he fucked up on New Year’s Eve. As if they didn’t have enough to worry about, now Derek was confronting his intimacy issues so he could marry Stiles in a couple weeks. 

_Just let me in_

Stiles jolted, catching his water glass before it could fall. He needed to be careful. The nogitsune was getting bolder now, maybe sensing that its window of opportunity was closing. It always tried to muscle its way in when Stiles was feeling particularly down. It was his own negative feelings that had messed up the companionship spell. He needed to get his head on straight. Meditation, positive thinking, mindful action. That was how he’d survived so far.

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

Derek was leaning toward him, hands ready to catch him if need be.

“Uh, yeah. I must be more tired than I thought.” Stiles sent him a quick smile, hoping he pulled it off.

“Let me drive you home,” said Derek, picking up his plate and Stiles’ and taking them to the kitchen. “You can sleep if you want.”

“No, I can get home just fine. It’s less than an hour.”

“If you say so.” Derek was still worried.

“I’m braindead, not sleepy. I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.”

Stiles said goodbye to everyone else, thanking them for the amazing meal, and Derek walked him back out to the Jeep. Stiles picked up Chewie and pet her as they went, enjoying the distraction. 

“The, uh, second session is tomorrow, right?” said Stiles, reluctantly giving Chewie to Derek so he could fish out his car keys. 

“Right. Three thirty.”

“No problem.” Stiles turned to his door, but he was arrested by a hand around his left wrist. He turned back as Derek clasped his hand and just held it for a moment. Derek wouldn’t feel a need to scent Stiles, since he’d been picking up the smells from his own home and family for hours now. Which meant this was just Derek being sweet.

“Text me when you get home, okay?” said Derek, staring at his shoes. 

“Okay,” said Stiles. Derek could tell something was wrong, and Stiles didn’t want him to think it was his fault. “Your family is really great,” he said quietly, with conviction. “You’re pretty great too.”

Derek met his gaze, making Stiles worried he was going to ask more questions, but in the end he just let Stiles go and ran one hand over his shoulder in a parting gesture. “They like you.”

Stiles smiled at that, but let the smile go too soon, he could feel it. Sure they liked him. They didn’t know the threat he was carrying around with him.

 

 

* * *

 

He drove just one mile away and pulled over on the side of the road with his hazards on, ripping off the seat belt before it started to choke him. He called Lydia on speed dial and put her on speaker phone. Ever since they’d figured out they were seeing the same thing in their nightmares, Lydia had been his rock. She was an outlier to Laura’s pack, a banshee who he met when their parents started dating almost a year ago. She wasn’t too impressed with him at first, but then he’d become her shoulder to cry on after a breakup, and they’d been close ever since.

“—so it’s just going to have to wait!” he heard her snap at someone on the phone, her voice unsteady from walking briskly on high heels. “Sorry about that, Stiles. What’s up?”

“I need,” he started, running his hands around the steering wheel and hanging his head. He took a deep breath, but he couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Got it,” she said. This wasn’t the first time she’d calmed him down. She had gotten pretty good at it, in fact. Much better than the first time she’d tried to interrupt his panic attack by kissing him. That had been a disaster and a half.

“Are you somewhere safe?” she said, her voice taking on a softness he knew few people heard. 

“Side of the road. Nobody’s here.”

“How’s your breathing?” 

“Still good.”

*“Okay, good. That’s good. You had dinner with Derek and his family, right?” Lydia waited for him to mumble in response. “I bet you had a good time. You always did get along with Cora.”

“They’re so great, Lydia,” said Stiles, choking a little. “That’s the problem. I can’t—”

“Stiles Stilinski, don’t you dare start thinking you’re not good enough for that family.”

Damn, she was good.

“But it’s my fault.”

She knew exactly what he was thinking. They’d had this conversation multiple times already. “It’s not your fault. You made a mistake, you’re fixing it, you’re doing what’s best for everybody. You are doing the right thing, Stiles. Even if they don’t know the whole story.”

Stiles shook his head and pounded the steering wheel with one hand. “He can barely touch me, Lydia. He’s got—I don’t know how to get through the wedding knowing he doesn’t want to be with me.”

“Did he say that?” Lydia’s voice became softer still.

“No, but he—he’s had some bad relationships, so every time we touch in a way that’s not, you know, normal pack stuff, he freaks out. I don’t want to be one more person that messes him up. I can’t do that to him. I won’t.”

“You won’t,” agreed Lydia, taking on her knowing tone once again. “This marriage is his choice, right?”

“Yes,” Stiles mumbled, sliding down a bit in his seat. He had a feeling where she was going with this.

“And he knows you’re going to have to consummate the marriage, right? He’s open to that?”

“Yeah.” 

“So you’re saying that he hasn’t jumped your bones yet and it’s freaking you out because until now that’s been how you evaluate where you are in a relationship?”

“…no?”

“And you guys have talked about it, right?”

“Yeah. He said he’s attracted to me, and he trusts me, and that’s what’s freaking him out.”

“Alright, that’s good. Now you have to trust him. And even if he’s only touching you like you’re pack, that’s still a big deal. That’s how you build trust with werewolves, romantic or not. It’s alright to take your time. You’re doing really well, Stiles.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” he mocked, but he did laugh. 

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Thanks again, Lyds.”

“Always. So what colors are your wedding? I need to get a dress.”

“You don’t have to come to my _binding ceremony_ , Lydia. It’s at dawn.”

“I’m coming. You haven’t talked about colors at all, have you?”

“Um, the colors are green and brown, to match the nemeton.”

She scoffed. “Whatever. I’m coming home the weekend before and we’re going suit shopping. Put it in your phone.”

“I will.” He didn’t need to put it in his phone. He’d remember.

“Do it now.” She was probably glaring and tapping her toe impatiently. 

“Love you too, bye,” he yelled into the phone, just to make her wince, and hung up on her. 

She was right. He was fixing it. He would fix it.

The nogitsune could go fuck itself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head-canon, when Laura becomes an alpha, she feels a stronger connection to the land and becomes a mega-conservationist. She shops at thrift stores, drives the greenest car she can, and ripped up her lawn for more natural landscaping that requires less water. She would have gotten rid of their parents' Camaro, but Derek pitched a fit, which is how he ended up with that sexy hunk of a car.  
> Laura met Jordan when he got back from the military four years ago, and there were only so many times she could find him wandering around literally smoking and half naked before she asked him out. They got married last year, and want to pop out some babies as soon as the nemeton calms down.  
> Cora went to Venezuela after the fire and was adopted by an awesome family. She's still close to them and visits whenever she can. When she first moved back to Beacon Hills, Derek learned how to cook Venezuelan food so she'd feel more at home, and now it's something she, Derek, and Jordan do together.  
> Cora and Derek speak Spanish to mess with Laura.  
> Laura plays up her outrage because she doesn't want them to stop.


	12. Face up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday-Friday, June 5-8
> 
> Derek and Stiles hit a snag in their second pre-marriage counseling session.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter jumps through a week of time quickly, but that's because there's A LOT coming with the weekend.

Stiles showed up to the next premarital counseling session with a spring in his step. Lydia’s pep talk had done wonders, and after texting Derek that he’d gotten safely home to the pack house, he fell into a dreamless sleep for the first time in weeks. She was right. He just had to remind himself that Derek was a grown man, he was amazing, and he was more than open to having a real marriage with Stiles. Things were going as perfectly as anyone could imagine, with these circumstances. 

Derek gave him a quick hug, too quick for Stiles’ taste, but still very appreciated. They went into Morrell’s office, and Derek not-too-subtly scooched their chairs closer together before they sat down. 

They spent the session talking about everything they’d discussed, and about their respective roles in their packs. Morrell seemed pleased with their efforts over the weekend, especially when Derek brought up the message he’d written to Stiles on Friday night. 

“That’s very good, Derek. When you have trouble communicating verbally, it’s perfectly acceptable to find a different way to express yourself. Of course, I encourage you both to continue to work on your verbal skills. There are few better ways to build confidence in your relationship than by having healthy conversations.”

The hour went fast, with Stiles feeling more and more confident and Derek relaxing next to him until Derek actually reached over and took Stiles’ hand. Stiles smiled at him like it was Christmas. He didn’t care. There wasn’t any reason to hide how he felt.

“Now, for homework,” said Morrell, scratching away in her notebook. “This one is more difficult, but I think it’s essential for the strength of your marriage. Openness with one another is something that will take constant work. It’s a discipline, not a talent. It’s a choice. There will always be something that you want to hide.”

Stiles paled, and his hand went clammy and limp. He didn’t look at Derek, just tried to school his breathing, calm the pounding in his heart.

Derek let go and, overly casual, crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knee. It looked like he was listening, but Stiles had taken a nonverbal communication class. That was a defensive posture.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

He knew Stiles was hiding something.

Stiles felt deeply ashamed and swallowed as Morrell continued.

“Your homework is to write a list of 5 things you don’t want the other person to find out about you. Choose just one, and talk about it with each other. Don’t shy away because you’re afraid of creating conflict. We can talk about it at the next session if needed.”

Stiles zeroed in on a dust bunny next to Morrell’s chair and didn’t really listen to anything else she said. A few minutes later, he thanked her and went out to the driveway, Derek close behind. 

Neither of them said anything about the homework.

“So, I’ll see you around,” said Stiles, still keeping his gaze around knee-level.

“Yeah,” said Derek. “See you.”

They didn’t touch, got into their respective cars, and drove off in different directions.  
  


* * *

  
  
Stiles wasn’t avoiding Derek, exactly. 

He could see how it would look that way to other people. After all, they had met each other every day for a week, except for Saturday, when they were texting all day long. So when Stiles didn’t say anything about Derek for three days, he could see why they might _think_ there was trouble in paradise, but that wasn’t what was happening.

What _was_ happening was Stiles making a highly detailed list of possible rentals, complete with pros and cons lists and maps of the fastest route to each family and the parks and rec office. 

Stiles also dead-headed Mrs. Yama’s roses on Wednesday and gave her car an oil change for $50, which was better than nothing.

Stiles also spent a lot of his free time meditating and writing positive attributes about himself in his journal. He considered writing his list of five secret things, but he was focusing on positive energy. If he slipped in the slightest, he could just feel the nogitsune shifting its feet beyond the door in his mind, waiting for it to open just a crack. The fact that Derek hadn’t attempted to contact him since the pre-marital counseling didn’t help.

He ended up having to call Lydia twice on Thursday.

Around ten o’clock that night, just as he was curling up on his laptop in his dad’s living room, he got a call from Satomi of all people. He answered it quickly. Satomi could not be convinced that phones were anything more than lazy and undignified, so the fact she was using one now made him sit up and pay attention. 

“We’re going camping with Laura and her family tomorrow night,” said Satomi, leaving out any greeting.

“Oh,” said Stiles, a little dumbly. 

“Pack mosquito repellent. We’re leaving at six.”

Satomi hung up.

Stiles buried his head in the couch cushions.  
  


* * *

  
  
Stiles liked camping a lot more than you would expect, okay. Like, he had pasty white skin and no coordination, and most of his exploring skills came from playing Legend of Zelda, but even he wasn’t immune to the wonders of the northern California wilderness. 

The camping, he didn’t mind.

Knowing he was about to spend the next twelve-plus hours with his fiancé in front of both their alphas and their closest friends, fielding questions about how it was going and teasing him and Derek about their upcoming nuptials…

Yeah. He was more interested in running into a bear.

At least he was trained for _that_ in fourth grade.

It’s fine, though. It’s fine. It’s fine. 

It’s gonna be fine.

Satomi picked Brett and Lori, Brett’s sister, to come along for the night, which Stiles might have noticed was odd if he weren’t freaking the fuck out. Maybe they were just the only pack members without any plans on a Friday night. 

Whatever. Breathe in, breathe out.

The sun, the moon, the truth.

Three things cannot be long hidden. The sun, the moon, the—

Fuck. He kept messing up and using the pack motto to calm himself down, and this week, it always did the opposite. It had an excellent way of pointing neon arrows at his current problem. The truth that he’d been hiding from Derek was _not_ comforting.

Stiles comforted himself with the thought that the ‘truth’ referred to in the motto referred to Buddhist teachings, and not necessarily every truth, and especially not his truth in particular. On the other hand, being one of the few non-Buddhists in the pack meant that the Buddha’s teachings didn’t evoke any kind of peaceful or nostalgic response in him, and therefore would not calm him down. Which meant he would naturally be applying the motto to whatever held the most meaning for him at the time. 

Like his shitty secrets.

So he was back to torturing himself.

_Stiles Stiles Stiles Stiles_

“Satomi?” he mumbled, staring out the passenger window with unfocused eyes. “A little help?”

Satomi didn’t even have to glance at him. She had probably sensed him freaking out ever since they got in the car, and she knew better than even he and Lydia what he was fighting against. Fortunately, Brett and Lori were arguing over something in the backseat, so they were driving in relative privacy.

“How about I tell you about the day my granddaughter learned how to shift?” said Satomi, glancing at the rearview mirror. 

“That sounds nice. Thanks.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
They were about twenty minutes north of the reservoir where he and Derek had met a couple weeks ago when Satomi turned onto a dirt road. Stiles was feeling better, thanks to her calm, no-nonsense voice, but he got antsy again as soon as it was apparent they were almost there.

“You know why I finally brought you into the pack?” asked Satomi, gravel crunching under their tires. 

Stiles turned his head to look at her now. “Because I’m persistent?”

She nodded. “That’s part of it. But the thing that really convinced me was that you get things done for the people you love. You make a plan, you execute it, and you live with the consequences, good or bad. There’s very little dilly-dallying.”

Stiles stayed guiltily silent, and his heartbeat ratcheted up as they pulled into a grassy clearing, where he recognized Laura’s shiny blue hybrid.

“Get out there, Stiles, and do what you do best. Don’t be a chickenshit.” Satomi parked with an unnecessary lurch, just to drive her point home, and got out of the car.

Satomi was the only person who could give him that kind of pep talk and succeed.

Brett and Lori were next out of the car, giving Stiles a moment to psych himself up. “Don’t be a chickenshit,” he repeated to himself, and swung out of the car.

Brett and Lori had already started unpacking, and Stiles intentionally ignored Laura and Derek so he could jump on Scott like a koala. 

“Scott!” he cried, squeezing as hard as he could but knowing it didn’t make a dent. “My sun, moon, and stars.” 

“Hello, khaleesi,” said Scott, not even off-balance and rolling his eyes. “Hey, remember that time you dragged me off into the woods during a lacrosse game because you were bored, and I was bitten by a crazy Alpha werewolf and almost got forced to join his pack?”

Stiles narrowed his eyes in distrust. “Yes?” He distantly heard the slamming of doors and an evil cackling that was Brett for sure, but kept his focus on Scott and his shifty face. Scott had never made Stiles feel bad for that, not since the first full moon when Scott was experiencing anger for basically the first time in his hippie-dippie life.

“Yeah, just keep that in mind whenever you think about killing me, okay?” With that, Scott spun him around, gave him a firm hug, detached him and put him on the ground in the blink of an eye. He sped to the passenger seat of Laura’s car and locked the door after him.

“Oh, no, you didn’t,” said Stiles, hoping desperately he didn’t know exactly what was going on.

Derek was having a very serious and unhappy conversation with Laura through the driver side window, trying very hard to open the door without just breaking it off. “Sorry Stiles!” Laura yelled, her voice muffled through the glass. “We’ll be back to pick you guys up at ten tomorrow. There’s everything you need next to the picnic table. Love you!” She started driving, and Derek kept pace with her for just a moment, whispering fiercely, before he gave up and watched her drive away.

Surprise of surprises, Satomi, Brett and Lori were long gone.

And oh, look. Derek’s murder eyes. It’s been a while since they’ve made an appearance.

Just then, both their phones chimed. With one last glance at each other, they looked at their phones.

**You have been added to a group chat.**

**Scotty Scott Scott > sorry guys **

**Scotty Scott Scott > you’ll have a good time trust me**

**Brat > don’t worry i hear that one person tent sleeps two very comfortably**

**Cora > HAHAHAHA I bet their faces were priceless**

Stiles took one look at Derek’s unhappy face. Nope, not going to happen. If Derek didn’t want to be forced into Stiles’ company, he was going to fix it. Like Satomi said. No dilly-dallying.

**Stiles > guys come back one sec I forgot my epi pen**

**Scotty Scott Scott > your not allergic to anything **

**Stiles > i’m allergic to pine pollen you know that**

**Scotty Scott Scott > nice try stiles**

**_Scotty Scott Scott has left the group chat._ **

**_Brat has left the group chat._ **

**_Cora has left the group chat._ **

**Stiles > lori can you PLEASE tell satomi i need my epi pen**

**_Lori has left the group chat._ **


	13. Marooned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night, June 8
> 
> Don't be a chickenshit, Stiles.

Derek was clenching the fist that wasn’t holding the phone, and the phone didn’t seem to be doing too well either. “Do you really need an epi pen?” he said, with just a quaver in his carefully neutral voice.

“No,” sighed Stiles. “I just don’t like being strong-armed like this.”

“Yeah,” said Derek, looking down. “Me too.”

Before he could comment on how unfairly true that was on every possible level, Stiles stomped off to the pile of backpacks and camping equipment to see what they had. When he looked back, Derek was scowling and texting furiously. Figuring they both needed a moment, Stiles started rooting through the supplies and checked out the cooler. Inside he found some foil packets in a ziploc bag, a tupperware with some kind of tomato salad, and a ton of alcohol, clearly labeled “WB”, probably meaning wolfsbane, or “For STiLes” in Scott’s hasty handwriting. Guessing the foil packets must be the main course, Stiles opened one to find diced marinated steak with bell peppers, potatoes, tomatoes, and bacon nestled alongside. 

He considered double-checking with Derek if it was alright to cook, but the werewolf was resolutely sticking to his side of the clearing. Sure, Stiles was feeling plenty sorry for himself, but seeing Derek paralyzed like this was making his heart ache in sympathy. The reason Derek was acting like this was probably because he knew Stiles was acting shady, and every instinct was telling him to get out. 

Stiles sighed and lit the barbecue. There was no getting around it. He was going to get some food into Derek, chase out any hangriness, and fess up. And hopefully stay friends once Derek dumped his ass for someone who wasn’t dumb enough to turn himself into demon bait.

By the time the steak packets were making promising sizzling noises on the barbecue, Derek had come back and started unobtrusively putting up the single tent. He’d obviously given up and decided to just go with it. Stiles caught his eye and offered him a sad, closed-mouth smile, and Derek did the same. Stiles laughed before he could stop himself, because it was _just like_ that vine.

Derek stopped, ten feet away, looking adorable and confused.

“Do you ever watch vines?” said Stiles, biting his tongue immediately because could there be a worse thing to say at the moment? Probably not. 

“Sometimes,” said Derek, still looking lost. “Cora used to show them to me, you know, when they were still a thing.”

“Isn’t that the saddest sentence ever,” said Stiles, turning his attention to the barbecue as though it needed constant attention. “‘When vines were still a thing’.”

“Alright, show it to me.”

“Huh?” 

Derek sauntered over, shyly putting his hands in his pockets. “You know you want to show me this vine that made you laugh.”

Stiles stared at him, then chuckled and fished his phone out. “Fine. I’ll show you.”

Ten minutes later, the steak was done, Derek had laid everything out for dinner, and Stiles was ready to throw his phone. “How the fuck am I supposed to use the vine archive? I don’t get it.”

“What’s the name of the vine?”

“How white people smile or something.”

Derek chuckled at that and rooted through the cooler. “IPA?”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, searching on tumblr now. He stumbled and half-fell into a camping chair. He _would not_ let it go. Victory or death.

“I think you’re not going to find it. Come on, let’s eat.”

“Fuck Twitter. They ruin everything. Vine, in-depth political discourse… I can’t think of anything else, but that’s plenty.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to find it.”

“I absolutely do,” disagreed Stiles. “It’s beyond personal now. And whether or not it’s possible, I am going to have this unfulfilled objective in my head for the rest of my life.” He took a plate from Derek, with the foil packet open on top of it, the delicious smell of steak wafting out. “I just thought of a third thing Twitter killed. My peace of mind.”

Derek gave him a half-smile, and dug in to his own dinner. They didn’t bother keeping up conversation while they ate. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, really. Just a reprieve while they both prepared themselves for whatever emotionally wracking conversation they were about to have. 

The food was delicious, surprise of surprises. Whether or not he married Derek in the end, these couple of weeks were going to ruin him for his normal peasant fare. 

“All done?” said Derek, standing next to him with his empty plate.

“Yeah, thanks,” said Stiles, letting Derek take his dishes and put them into a box to wash later. Stiles stood and instantly started fidgeting. This was the worst.

“How about a walk?” asked Derek, standing up after dousing the barbecue.

Stiles nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Better than staying at the campsite and stewing in betrayal. 

They started off at an easy pace, down a path that had clearly been carved by other campers. Stiles, used to tromping through the woods with werewolves, let Derek take the lead. Derek walked slowly, though, staying side-by-side with Stiles. It was peaceful, for sure, still hot but slowly cooling as the sun migrated west. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t message you this week,” Derek said, sticking his hands in his pockets and looking down. 

“Me too,” said Stiles, breathing in the forest smell and sighing. “I should have. I was just… the homework isn’t easy this week,” he finished lamely.

“Morrell is brutal,” agreed Derek.

They walked on, and Stiles could picture the opportunity to fess up slipping away. 

_Don’t be a chickenshit._

“Okay, I’m just going to tell you. The real reason I need this marriage is because I did something stupid last New Year’s Eve. It’s my fault we’re in this mess.”

They both stopped walking, and Derek turned to face him. 

“So, all that stuff you told Laura, about stabilizing the nemeton…?”

“No, that’s all true,” Stiles hastened to reassure him. “Just… stabilizing me is the more important issue.”

“Because you’re a spark,” said Derek, dipping his head so he could look at Stiles beneath the brows of judgment.

“Yes, but it’s more drastic than that. Um, I,” Stiles took a big breath and exhaled it quickly, putting both hands on his head. 

Time to just go for it.

“I got really drunk last New Year’s, and I was feeling sorry for myself, thinking that everyone has a significant other than me, and that I’ll probably always be alone because I’m so spastic, you know, and I found this old spell in one of Hideyo’s books promising to find my soulmate, or something. But I think I translated it wrong, because instead of me and my soulmate somehow getting drawn to each other, I started getting these nightmares.”

Derek’s face was grave with concern. “Go on.”

“Yeah, so I did the ritual right, but because I was coming at it from a place of self-pity and negativity, it filled the spell with toxic energy, because I’m a spark, right? Like, intent and positive energy and belief are everything. So ever since, there’s been a demon trying to wear me down and possess me, and I need to find a way to stop it.”

“A demon.”

“Yeah. Noshiko ran into it when she was in the Japanese concentration camp. It’s called a nogitsune, feeds off chaos. Lydia’s been seeing nightmares of it too. That’s why I knew it wasn’t just my imagination.”

About five different expressions flitted across Derek’s face before he settled on suspicion. “Why didn’t you tell us about this?”

“Lots of reasons that seemed pretty good at the time,” said Stiles, scuffing his toe in the dry pine needles underfoot. “Mostly, the consensus is that Stiles is an idiot and we should hide that for as long as possible.” His eyes started burning, and he cleared his throat. This was not the time to be weeping. It felt like a cry for sympathy and he didn’t deserve that.

“That’s not why,” said Derek with narrowed eyes. 

“It’s—we would have told you if nobody agreed to the marriage in the first place. But we were hoping we wouldn’t have to. We all feel responsible, Satomi, Hideyo and I. Hideyo because he didn’t train me better, and Satomi because she didn’t kill the nogitsune when she had the chance. And Satomi, you know, she’s from a different time. It’s not easy for alphas to admit when they mess up, and she’s more than a hundred years old.”

Derek, who had more experience with alphas than Stiles did, just nodded his head thoughtfully. “You didn’t lie. You just left out your mistakes.”

“And how dangerous this situation is,” said Stiles, finally giving up and wiping his eyes. “This demon, both Lydia and I have nightmares that match up _exactly,_ point for point. I’m planting a bomb, I’m stabbing people, I’m manipulating everyone so they fight each other, I…” Stiles swallowed, his throat making a dry clicking noise in the still forest. 

“And what was your plan B if we didn’t agree to the marriage?” Derek took the slightest step forward.

Stiles backed away so they stayed the same distance apart, but didn’t say anything.

“Stiles,” Derek barked at him, more worried now.

“We had a couple other plans, just not good ones.” Stiles looked up and met his eyes, knowing that Derek was going to figure it out.

Derek’s voice was low and horrified. “Would they kill you if they had to?”

“Lydia estimates I would kill more than thirty people if they don’t stop me first. Some of them in our packs, some police officers, some people at the hospital.” Stiles couldn’t believe he could say this so calmly, but he’d had more than enough time to come to terms with what he’d opened up. “So we all agreed that I should be taken down before any innocent lives are lost.”

Derek stared blankly at Stiles for a minute, which was plenty of time for Stiles to run through his breathing exercises and start fidgeting. 

“We’d better make sure that doesn’t happen, then.”

Stiles just had to nod mutely at that. He liked living. A lot. But if he had to pull a Steve Rogers and throw himself on a hand grenade, that’s what he would do.

“So you’ve been holding off a demon for, what, five whole months now?” Derek continued.

“Yeah.” Stiles swallowed, feeling a little naked but relieved, overall, to let someone new in on his secret. 

“Wow. I’ve never…” Derek shook his head, and he edged forward again. This time Stiles let him. “How did you do it?”

“I… I basically have to have a perfect balance these days,” said Stiles, laughing a little wetly. “Lots of meditation, journaling, light exercise, very little sugar because I can’t afford a sugar crash… turning in my senior thesis project without getting too stressed was tricky. The worst is at night, when I get nightmares about it, but Lydia’s been a saint. She doesn’t mind calming me down. And Satomi and Hideyo help me a lot, too.”

Derek’s fists were clenched at his side. “Can I—do you mind if I hug you?”

Stiles let out a real sob at that, which he hated, but he nodded. 

It was the perfect hug. 

It wasn’t like a blanket, or a warm summer day, or a cup of hot tea when you’re tired. It was so much better than that.

It was exactly like a burly, good-smelling werewolf with a high body temperature and a scruffy neck wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulled you close, and just held you for the sake of giving simple comfort. 

Derek was warm, and solid, and real.

Derek seemed to know that Stiles didn’t need a compulsory hug, all back-slapping and restless shifting, the kind so common between two guys. He just held on. Stiles rested his head on Derek’s shoulder and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 

As Stiles was leaning into Derek but trying not to move, Derek slid one hand down Stiles’ right arm and guided it so it was wrapped around himself.

Stiles immediately clung to him with all his strength, and just let it all out.

The amount of water coming out of his eyes was apocryphal. Derek let him cry with no complaints, just encouraging murmurs in his ear. He was getting snot and goopy tears all over Derek’s pristine cornflower blue t-shirt, but damn it felt good to get all the stress out. 

An eternity later (but probably just a couple of minutes), Stiles leaned away just enough to wipe his face on his t-shirt sleeve and laugh self-consciously. Derek didn’t let him budge yet, though.

“So, that was the homework,” he said, perching his chin on Derek’s shoulder so he could stare wide-eyed at the forest, now growing in shadows. “Piece of cake.”

Derek laughed quietly in his ear, rubbed his hand across Stiles’ shoulders, and gently planted his lips on Stiles’ temple. 

Stiles let out a shuddering breath that made no secret of how much he loved that. It was a good thing he was already flushed from crying, because it wasn’t like there was much damage to be done. 

He was stupidly gone on Derek. 

Not like _that_ was a secret. It was just one of those things that was powerful enough to hit you every so often, like a gust of wind on a windy day.

Stiles sniffed and took a deep breath. “So… you don’t want to tell me your big dark secret right now, do you?” 

Derek laughed again, and he rocked Stiles back and forth a bit. “I think later would be good.”

“Yes. Yes, please. Preferably after eating a disgusting amount of s’mores.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Derek stepped back, but didn’t break contact as he ran a hand down Stiles’ arm and linked fingers with him. “Come on, let’s go.”

Stiles, feeling freer than he had in months, smiled at him, and Derek stumbled. 

“Come on,” Derek said again, ears pinking in embarrassment. 

Grinning now, Stiles went with him hand in hand, all the way back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [These](https://cafedelites.com/steak-cheesy-bacon-potato-hash-foil-packs/) are what I was thinking of for dinner. 
> 
> Can you tell I have a bone to pick with Twitter? If you can think of anything else Twitter has killed please tell me so we can grumble about it.


	14. The get-along tent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday night, June 8, continued (and a little of the next morning)
> 
> Get it? Get-along tent? Like a get-along sweater?
> 
> Aaand now I want to write a get-along sweater fic. Someone stop me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek’s whole backstory trigger warning. If you’re not in any kind of mood for that, you can skip to “I know, logically”.

Night fell with the sudden air of shutting the party down; one moment, everything was golden and floating dust motes, and the next, they were relying on their wolf-eyes (Derek) and cell phone (Stiles) to fish out the tent and wrangle it into submission. 

Brett wasn’t lying. It really was a one-person tent.

Stiles had a hard time not staring at it in creepy fascination.

Since it was too early for everyone but babies and the severely aged to go to sleep, they made a good effort of lighting a fire and eating s’mores (Stiles let himself have just one, which was almost worse than none), but then the mosquitos descended. Even Derek got overwhelmed with the constant buzzing, and apparently for him healing from mosquito bites is like experiencing all the itchiness from a few days in a five-second window, who knew? 

(Okay, it was hilarious to see Derek slap the side of his neck with supernatural speed and hiss, “Die, you fucker,” but Stiles wasn’t going to sacrifice his body to see more of it.)

They smothered the fire and retreated into the tent. 

Which was one of those coffin-shaped things where maybe one person could sit cross-legged in the middle, but only if the other person doesn’t need a place to put their, like, spleen. 

So they fumbled around and ended up laying shoulder-to-shoulder, backs on the ground, right up against the tent walls. Derek opened the vinyl flaps that allowed a breeze, while the mesh kept the mosquitos out, and Stiles turned on an electric lantern and put it at their feet, filling the tent with glowing orange light.

Cue crickets.

“Hey, I just want to say thank you,” said Stiles, tapping his fingers nervously on his stomach. “You didn’t have to be so cool with, you know. Looming demon possession. So thanks.”

Derek didn’t say anything, and the sounds of the cooling forest filled their ears. 

Stiles couldn’t deal with suspense ever, so he turned his head to see what Derek was doing.

Just looking up at the ceiling and swallowing nervously.

Derek’s gaze darted his way for a second, then went back up. 

“Hey,” said Stiles, whispering because it felt right, “if the thing you were going to tell me is too hard, you can choose like, number five on that list. It can just be something embarrassing. Like, you discovered your sexuality because of all the oiled up dudes on 300. I won’t judge.”

Derek laughed and covered his face with his hands for just a second. “Antonio Banderas in the Legend of Zorro, actually.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. Mine was Toby Maguire, which I feel like I should be embarrassed by, and now regret telling you.”

Derek chuckled, then let out a sigh in a big breath that shifted his body against Stiles. “I didn’t… I couldn’t make a list of five things,” he admitted, “Because I knew from the beginning what I needed to tell you.”

“Me too,” said Stiles, following Derek’s example and looking at the ceiling, which seemed unnaturally still on that windless night.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes,” said Derek, his voice lower than a whisper; it was just a voiceless susurrus and clicking in his throat that Stiles wouldn’t have heard if he weren’t just a few inches away. “So I know why you were scared to tell me.”

Stiles just nodded, knowing Derek didn’t need to see it to know his response. Message received. Derek was scared, too.

“Jennifer—the darach,” said Derek, swallowing again, “wasn’t even the worst of it. When I was fifteen, I was dating this girl, Paige, and she was… I thought she was perfect. But I was freaking out, being dramatic, you know, and Peter, he… I thought the only way for us to be together was if she was a werewolf. And Peter asked this alpha he knew to bite her.”

“She… she didn’t know?”

Derek was quiet for a moment. “She didn’t know anything. I… my parents hadn’t gotten around to talking about biting with consent, you know. They didn’t think it would be an issue for me, I guess, since I wasn’t an alpha and not likely to become one, anyway. I didn’t know how wrong that was, so I just went along with it.”

“It sounds like Peter talked you into it,” said Stiles, finally shifting onto his side and pillowing his head on one arm. He was getting a crick in his neck constantly looking at Derek’s face.

“Kind of, but… I should have known better. I didn’t have any right to make that decision, but I was a stupid teenage boy.”

“Were you a freshman? Sophomore?”

“Sophomore.” 

“You were just a kid,” said Stiles, his heart breaking.

Derek just shook his head, and he didn’t answer.

“So what happened?” 

“She died.”

Stiles couldn’t stop his intake of breath. It was rare for the bite not to take, but it did happen, particularly if the person bitten had an incompatible supernatural affiliation. And if it didn’t take, there was about a fifty percent chance of them dying.

“She was dying slowly, and I carried her to the nemeton. I thought, I don’t know, being by a world tree would fix her. I should have just taken her to Deaton, but I didn’t want anyone to find out, and Peter just left.”

If Stiles hadn’t seen Peter impaled on Laura’s claws eight years ago, he would have had major words for that piece of shit. And maybe a few wolfsbane-related hexes.

Derek went on. “She was in a lot of pain, and I realized it was already too late, so I—”

“You ended it,” said Stiles, his eyes growing hot, his stomach lurching in horror. “You helped her.”

Derek shook his head again. “I hope so. I don’t know.”

“And that’s why your eyes are blue?”

“Yeah. That’s why my eyes are blue. I killed an innocent girl.”

Stiles had a hard time not just going in for a hug. The way Derek was restraining his every muscle told Stiles that he was fighting the impulse to cry, or punch something, or run away. Any of those would be understandable. “Can I—can I hold your hand? Or something?”

Derek didn’t answer, and Stiles was about to take it back, but then Derek shot his hand out and interlaced his fingers with Stiles’, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. 

Stiles just let the time pass, feeling the pulse in his fingers, the slight clamminess of Derek’s hand in his. He was so, so furious with whatever fucked up timeline this was. From what he could see, Derek had trusted the wrong person, and everything went wrong in order to make him feel responsible for it.

It was at least a few minutes later when Derek inhaled sharply and said, “I was in a bad place after that. I slept with a substitute teacher, she turned out to be a hunter, and she burned my house down, along with most of my family.”

Stiles just froze and replayed that in his head. The way Derek had told him so quickly suggested that he was much less at peace with it, that he was just ripping the bandaid off as quickly as possible.

This wasn’t the paced retelling of a story that had been thoroughly hashed out in the presence of a trusted therapist. It was still raw. 

“Shit,” he whispered.

Derek took a long breath through his nose. “My parents died. My aunt, my cousins, my little brother… Peter survived, but something went wrong with his healing. He was in a coma for years. We didn’t even know he was awake when he got out and bit Scott, and you know, he was out of his mind.”

Stiles just squeezed Derek’s hand and gave him time to think. There wasn’t anything he could say, not now. He was just shocked—shocked, and furious with whatever forces in the universe that allowed this to happen.

“I know, logically,” said Derek, “that the fire was not my fault. It’s taken me years to even be able to say that, but I’m there. But it makes dating hard, you know? It took me a lot of therapy and time before I could, and then I dated Jennifer, and then it turned out she was behind all the human sacrifices this winter. I thought I was making progress with her, you know, I slept with her and I didn’t freak out, but in retrospect she might have been influencing me in order to make that happen. It’s impossible to know for sure.”

“Fuck,” said Stiles.

“So I’m not in a very good place these days.” He laughed a little wetly, but he rolled over to his side, facing Stiles.

“I’m surprised you volunteered to marry me,” said Stiles, trying to read his mood. Derek seemed tired, and upset from telling his story, but he was also relaxed. Relieved.

“I had made up my mind to never try again, because I thought whoever I was with wouldn’t be good for the pack. They wouldn’t be safe, you know. But with you—I think you’re the only person I could be with. I know this marriage would be good for us. For everyone. And you have Scott’s stamp of approval, obviously—”

“That doesn’t mean much, he approves of almost everyone—”

“—so you come highly recommended. From pretty much everyone in your pack, too.”

Stiles had a really hard time not cooing at that, but he managed. He would keep it on the inside until he could go home and hug everyone he saw for ten minutes each. 

“Not to mention, your dad is pretty great.” Derek tried to keep his smile bland, but Stiles saw just enough wistfulness in it to break his heart.

“Yeah, he is. He’s already asking about when we can go to baseball games together. Actually, from the way he said it, I’m not so sure I’m invited.” Stiles frowned. No, his dad wouldn’t invite Derek but not Stiles. Would he? He wouldn’t.

“I have a hard time trusting my instincts, so I’m trusting the people who know me, and know you.”

“But, still. What do your instincts say?” asked Stiles. He was a big believer in gut feelings, so this was an important question.

“That you’re safe. That you’re one of the good ones. I have trust issues, but you make it easier for me,” said Derek, and he rested his free hand on Stiles’ face, thumb on his cheek and fingers in his hair. “I’m sorry I’m not ready for you to kiss me. Sometimes I think I am, but then I’m afraid that I’m pushing myself too hard, and that it’ll backfire.”

“You’re more afraid of making yourself panic than you are of me?”

“Yeah. Exactly like that.”

“How about this,” said Stiles, looking down thoughtfully where their hands were clasped. “You take the lead for now. If you want to kiss me, kiss me. If you want to hold my hand, you can do that. I’ll hold off from doing anything until you ask me to. At least, I won’t do anything a pack member wouldn’t.”

“That’s not really fair to you,” said Derek, sliding his hand down to Stiles’ neck. 

Stiles had a hard time not arching into it. “I don’t really think that way, at least not right now. I just want to help you. And I want you to be comfortable.”

“Okay, counter-offer. I won’t do anything to you that I don’t want you reciprocating. So you can just match me.”

Stiles felt his eyebrows go up. “Uh, yeah. Okay. We can totally do that.”

Derek scrutinized him, his gaze flicking over Stiles’ face, but he finally nodded. “I want to help you, too. I want you to rely on me when you’re feeling unbalanced. I want to earn that.”

“You mean, when I would usually call Lydia?”

“If you want to,” Derek hastened to say. “I might not be as good as she is at calming you down, but any time you want to talk to me, please just call. Even at work, nobody will mind if I get a personal call.”

“That’s kind of a lot to ask,” hedged Stiles. He didn’t want Derek to think he was annoying.

“Yeah, but that’s part of being married, right? Counting on each other when we have a bad day? We might as well start now.”

“You still want to marry me? Now that you know I’m an idiot?”

“You still want to marry _me_? Now that you know I have tons of baggage?” Derek parroted, but Stiles knew he meant it.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling a little at their constant need for reassurance. “I really do.”

Derek’s eyes were smiling, then they scrunched shut with a quick yawn. “Ugh. Sorry. I don’t know why I’m so tired.”

“Well, we’ve kind of been through it today,” said Stiles, his thumb tapping the back of Derek’s hand. “Want to just sleep?”

Derek nodded, already looking halfway there, and it was just as adorable as Stiles could have predicted. 

They crawled out of the tent and got ready, brushing their teeth and washing their faces at the spigot. There wasn’t anything else to do, with all their food secured and fire completely dead, so they changed into t-shirts and shorts and went back in.

Stiles should have been feeling antsy, it not even being ten o’clock yet, but everything was catching up to him. Besides, he hadn’t slept properly in months, and being around Derek settled him. He was actually feeling sleepy.

He lay down on the mattress pad with a contented sigh, and Derek followed him, laying even closer than before, still facing each other.

“We did good today,” said Stiles, pillowing his head on one arm.

“Think we’ll get a gold star from Morrell?” 

“We better,” grinned Stiles, delighted that Derek’s sass was back. “High five!”

Derek snorted, but he obligingly high-fived Stiles, then sat up to turn off the light. Stiles couldn’t see anything now, but with the soft noises of fabric rustling he knew Derek had laid back down. “I’m dreading tomorrow. I have to tell my sister her plan worked.”

“Ugh!” cried Stiles, laughing at the thought. “Everybody is going to be super annoying.”

“So what did you do this week? It was weird not talking to you.” Derek’s voice was relaxed. Fond, even.

“Yeah, let’s not do that again. I was looking at houses for us. I have a whole binder. It’s very in-depth.”

“Were you stress-researching? Scott mentioned that you do that.” Derek sounded like he didn’t know if he should be concerned or amused.

“A little bit, but also just trying to think positive thoughts about the future. Keep the big picture in mind, so I didn’t freak out over telling you everything.”

Derek hummed at that, and his hand found Stiles’ forearm, just smoothing over it with his thumb. “And what did you picture?” he asked, his voice a little deeper than before.

Stiles shivered. “Well, a zen garden, for one,” he said, keeping his tone light. He’d reciprocate some other time. He didn’t want to scare Derek off. 

Derek just snorted at him.

“And a big kitchen for you, so you can cook me anything your heart desires,” Stiles went on.

“Who said I’m doing all the cooking?”

“Dude. I will give it a shot, but I can’t imagine a universe in which you want me to cook for you.”

Derek responded to that with a light jab to the solar plexus. “When can we go check out houses?”

“Uh, maybe tomorrow? Are you busy?”

“Soccer game at two thirty, which you’re welcome to come to, by the way.”

“I will find my khaki shorts and see you there.”

“Don’t come if you don’t have a visor,” said Derek, in that dour-but-secretly-delighted way he was so good at.

“Okay. Khaki shorts, visor, polo shirt, and then after that we go look at houses?”

“Sounds good,” said Derek. 

Stiles was grinning away in the dark before he realized Derek could probably see it with his super eyes, and he cleared his throat and tried to shove it down.

“How do you feel about cuddling?” said Derek, and Stiles could never have predicted those words to come out of his mouth.

“Um, pro. Very pro-cuddling. In pretty much all circumstances where you are involved.” Stiles winced. Save some dignity for yourself, Stilinski.

“Good,” said Derek, and he scooted closer, sliding his (very firm, very warm) arm under Stiles’ head and manhandling him until Stiles had an arm across his (very firm, very warm) chest. “This okay?”

Stiles just barely stopped himself from letting out a hysterical giggle. This was so much better than okay. “Yeah,” he said, his voice breaking.

He felt Derek’s chest bounce, and Derek let out a short laugh. He pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head. “Good night, Stiles.”

“Good night, Derek,” said Stiles, his eyes closing already.

* * *

Stiles woke up with a start, the sound of a fist pounding on a door ringing in his ears. Derek’s hand was on his shoulder, shaking it gently.

“Hey,” said Derek, sleep-raspy and quiet. “You were having a nightmare.”

Stiles lay his head back down and let out a long breath. “Thank you,” he said. The nightmare had barely even started, and he closed his eyes with the relief that he hadn’t had to see himself thrusting a sword through Scott’s body for the thousandth time.

Derek didn’t answer, but he squeezed Stiles closer for a second, then started rumbling in a soft snore.

Stiles breathed in Derek, his slightly woodsy, slightly soapy aroma, and drifted easily back to sleep.

* * *

“Stiles. Stiles. Stiles.”

“Noooooooo,” Stiles whined, clutching his body pillow harder. 

“Believe me, you want to be awake for this.”

“No, I have twenty minutes before class starts. I’ll just wear the clothes I have on now. I don’t smell bad, anyway.” Stiles took a deep breath and wiggled. “Actually, I smell like Christmas, I smell so good.”

“I think you’re just smelling the forest.” The body pillow started shaking a little, which was weird, but Stiles was nothing if not stubborn, and he held on more.

“Uh, no, but whatever pine-scented candle you’ve got burning make sure you put it out because we can’t afford another—” Stiles stopped and cracked open his eyes. “This isn’t my apartment at school.”

Derek, looking fresh as a daisy, smirked over at him, his sea-and-sand colored eyes dancing, his stubble looking especially bristly and beautiful. “Nope. And I hear Laura’s car and your Jeep coming down the road, so unless you want to walk out of the tent to a bunch of applause, you should probably get up within the next two minutes.”

Stiles let out a disgusted groan and heaved himself up into a sitting position from where he’d been clutching at Derek like a damsel in distress. “I hate it that you’re right. What time is it?”

“Seven thirty.”

Stiles’ eyes were dry, so he scrunched them closed again, raised both middle fingers and flailed them around. “Fuck you, world! Fuck you.”

“Is this your morning meditation exercise?”

“Fuck you especially. It’s too early for you to look this pretty.”

Derek just huffed in laughter and shouldered his way out into the blinding sun. Stiles cracked an eye open just in time to catch his backside disappearing out of the tent, beautifully delineated in silver basketball shorts.

“Ugh.” Stiles fell back down and curled into the fetal position. The whole world was unfair.

“Aren’t you coming?” Derek ducked back in the entrance, clearly way too delighted with Stiles’ morning persona.

“Not anytime soon,” Stiles grumbled.

“Anything I can help you with?”

“You can help me by getting out of my sight. I have to make this boner die before your sister gets here, and _this—_ ” Stiles said, motioning at Derek in general, “is making it extremely difficult.”

Derek’s smile at that was pure sunshine, which just made Stiles’ problem _worse_ , so he threw a pillow at his face. “Out!”

“Yeah, just a second, I forgot my phone,” said Derek, too innocently, and he crawled _over_ Stiles’ body, reaching into the corner where he’d tossed his cell phone. Then he slowly, casually, leaned on one arm and brandished the phone with the other. “Sorry about that.”

Stiles felt his mouth pop open as Derek just hung out over him, like a one-handed pushup was a perfectly comfortable position to be in, and Derek raised both eyebrows and blinked. “What?”

“Oh, this is how you want to play it, Hale?”

Derek cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know, Stilinski. How am I playing it?”

“I think you’re dishing it out but I don’t know if you can take it.” Stiles sounded cocky, but this was a real concern. If there was going to be a battle of the blue balls, he intended to win, and he needed to make sure Derek was totally on board.

Derek lowered himself slowly, smoothly, so his chest just brushed Stiles’, and he breathed into his ear. “Maybe I want to take it.”

Stiles choked.

Derek was suddenly out of the tent, just as the sound of tires on gravel reached Stiles’ ears. The cavalry had arrived.

Stiles just went limp, his chest heaving and his mouth wide open. 

“Fuck,” he whispered fervently.

Oh, it was on.


	15. House Hunters: Beacon Hills edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday morning and afternoon, June 9

He could hear Laura, Jordan, and Scott outside, setting up the picnic table with breakfast, teasing Derek over how much he smelled like Stiles. Derek was being a little too quiet, and Stiles couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing, so he just needed to get out there.

He pulled out his phone and texted Scott.

**Stiles > code red sos**

**Scotty Scott Scott > lol**

**Scotty Scott Scott >yeah I got you **

He and Scott had a long-standing arrangement of sending each other boner killers when the need...arose. (Stiles was a wordsmith, even at this ungodly hour.) It had saved them too many times in high school for them to stop now. Within the minute, Scott sent Stiles the picture of a kitten covered in afterbirth—just the sort of thing that Scott would have saved, thinking it was cute, and had Stiles dry heaving. Working at a vet office had warped Scott’s sensibility of what was sickening or not.

He shuddered and made faces, staring at the picture as long as he needed to.

Yup. Problem solved.

He pulled on a light hoodie, ran his fingers through his hair, and went outside into the fresh air. First off, a glare for Derek, who totally earned it, but was looking so self-satisfied that Stiles felt himself smiling back. Dammit. 

Second, to voice his displeasure. “Oh, wow, guys. What a gift at seven thirty in the morning. You know, I was just thinking that there as nothing I’d rather do at this time than—”

“We have coffee,” interrupted Scott.

“Aaaand I love you all.” Stiles took a plain latte—when he could have sugar again, he was going to throw a party—and took a gulp. Fortunately, the drive from town was just long enough that he could drink it without fear of burning his taste buds off. 

“Take your pick,” said Laura, motioning at a heap of breakfast sandwiches. “We bought everything at the shop, so we have enough for you to eat two. Consider it an apology for our scheming, underhanded ways.”

Stiles tore into the nearest sandwich, something with eggs, black forest ham, and swiss, and just smiled contentedly at her. “Oh, I guess. But you shouldn’t assume I’m not just biding my time, waiting for the right time to strike.” He unabashedly nudged Scott and Derek apart from where they were sitting on the picnic bench so he could sit between them both. 

“What’s your plan for today?” said Scott. “We brought your Jeep just in case.”

“Uh, I’ll go home and take a shower at Satomi’s,” said Stiles, knowing Satomi would want confirmation that he and Derek were good. “And then Derek’s soccer game? And looking at houses?” He looked at Derek just to double check.

Derek nodded and took a sip of his coffee, ears turning pink.

“You know, if you ever want to spend the night instead of driving back to Beacon Hills, you can do that,” said Jordan. “If you don’t want to sleep on Scott’s couch, that is.”

“Yeah, you can totally have a guest room,” said Laura, lighting up mischievously. “If you want it. I mean, you don’t _have_ to stay in the guest room. It’s just there. As an option. If you don’t want to stay _anywhere_ else in our house.”

From the way Stiles felt Derek’s left leg flex, and the way Laura shifted slightly to the side, he guessed that Derek had tried to kick her and missed.

“I will let you know,” said Stiles airily, popping the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and reaching for another. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Alpha.”

They talked some more about their plans for the weekend, and Stiles made a valiant effort to be present and charming like always. It wasn’t that hard, despite the disgusting time of day; there wasn’t a person at the table he didn’t genuinely like. Jordan was hard to read, but Stiles didn’t feel like he was obligated to vet his character; there were three werewolves at the table who could do that just fine, and he trusted their judgment. “We should do this again, for real,” he said when he got up from the table, putting a hand on Derek’s shoulder for balance. “Like for the fourth of July or something. With both our packs.”

“The Saturday after is July 7th,” said Jordan. “We don’t have anything planned.”

Stiles put his hands together beseechingly and fluttered his eyelashes at Laura.

“Okay, don’t do that,” said Laura, looking disturbed. “I’ll ask Satomi.”

“Yay! Camping with no shenanigans!”

“There are always shenanigans,” said Scott, rolling his eyes. 

“Camping with less shenanigans!” Stiles pounded his fist in the air and went to dismantle the tent. 

They packed everything up efficiently, the weres sorting out what belonged to which pack by smell, and stowed them in the trunks of their cars before saying goodbye.

This time, when Derek and Stiles said goodbye next to their cars, Stiles didn’t hesitate to hug Derek back. Derek picked him up and swung him a little, like he couldn’t help himself, and when he put Stiles down they were both flushed. 

Stiles leaned forward and whispered in Derek’s ear. “See you soon,” he said, dropping his voice just a little. He turned around and took off his sweatshirt as he headed to his Jeep, letting it ride up his t-shirt in the back almost all the way. Letting the shirt fall down naturally, he opened the driver side door and looked back at Derek. 

He was rooted to where Stiles had left him, and Stiles threw his head back and cackled to his heart’s content. “Payback’s a bitch, Derek,” he said, and swung into the driver’s seat.

Yeah. This would be fun.

* * *

Stiles showed up 20 minutes late to the soccer game. The morning had been a whirlwind of activity—shower, talk to Satomi, run to Target, try on about 15 different dad-tastic outfits with Lydia on video chat, eat lunch at his dad’s house, pack overnight bag, call realtor, run back to Satomi’s for the forgotten binder of house information, then drive (read: speed) all the way to the Beacon Hills just in time to fall into the grass next to Cora, who was sunning herself in a fabric camping chair and not watching the game at all.

“Hi, Stiles,” she said, not opening her eyes. “New clothes, huh?”

Freaking werewolves. She must have smelled the eau de Target on him.

“Hello, traitor,” he said cheerfully. “Which team is Derek’s?” 

“Their goalie is on the left. Also, Derek just asked me where your visor is?” At that, she sat up so she could look down at him. “What in the world are you wearing? Do people even wear polo shirts anymore?”

“Polo players, maybe. Lydia says next year I can start wearing it unironically, so I’m ahead of the curve for once.”

“Hmph. Okay,” said Cora, not convinced at all. “No, Derek, I’m not saying that.”

Stiles let himself look over at Derek for the first time to see Derek in all his glory, wearing perfectly respectable chino shorts and a plain heather blue t-shirt. “Come on, what is this? You promised me cargo shorts,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice, even though he was more than twenty feet away.

Derek just put on a pair of aviators, put his whistle between his teeth, and snapped into a pose with his clipboard, making Stiles start cackling.

“You guys are gross,” said Cora, more affectionately than she probably meant to.

The ref whistled, and called off-sides on the other team.

“Yeah, take that, you animals. Stay on the on-sides,” yelled Stiles. “I know almost nothing about soccer,” he told Cora.

“You don’t say.”

“I just assume the rules are the same as lacrosse.”

“Good idea.”

By the end of the first half, Stiles had picked out his favorite player, a scrawny kid with sports glasses named Brant, who was pretty good but kept losing the ball due to his chronic overthinking.

“That’s okay, Brant! You’ll get it next time!” he cheered when the teams converged on the side lines for their halftime juice break.

“I feel like you’re identifying a little too much with this kid,” said Cora.

“Nah, I was never like that. I was like that goalie guard,” he said, pointing at a boy on the other team. The kid was doing some kind of jumping jacks and facing the wrong direction. “Yup. I see adderall in your future, my friend. Who’s your favorite? Let me guess. It’s the black girl with the ponytail.”

“Her name’s May,” said Cora, irritably. 

“I knew it! She has your killer instinct and desire to dominate weaker men. How does a fourth grader know how to side-tackle anyway?”

“Youtube,” said Cora, putting on her sunglasses.

Stiles snorted. “Oh, yeah. Kids these days.”

They watched the second half, getting more and more wound up when the teams were tied 2-2, and trying to crack each other up.

“Come on, ref! That chicken licker was way outta line!”

“Hands! Hands! You about to catch these HANDS!”

“CATCH ME OFFSIDE, HOW BOUT THAT?”

“SOMEBODY CALL DUA LIPA CAUSE APPARENTLY WE’VE GOT SOME NEW RULES IN PLAY.”

“You’re so dumb,” said Cora, snickering at him, but then she stopped abruptly. “Oh. Derek said if we don’t calm down he’s going to make us walk home. The parents are getting mad.”

“That’s okay, I’ve got my—”

“And he’s taking your car keys so you can’t drive.”

“Curses, foiled again.” Stiles pouted and kicked his feet from side to side.

Cora listened for another moment. “Want to buy ice cream for the team with me? We have just enough time to run to the gas station.”

“But we’ll miss overtime!”

“I think that might be the point.”

Stiles sighed and got to his feet, checking for grass stains on his shiny new shorts. Not too bad. “Fair enough. Alright, let’s go.”

Cora bought two boxes of ice cream bars, one box of popsicles for the kids who didn’t eat dairy, and a bag of unsweetened, dried cranberries for Brant, who wasn’t allowed to have sugar or milk. Stiles’ dad would be calling child services if he could see this.

They got back just in time to see one of Derek’s kids score a goal in a shootout, and they jumped up and down screaming when the time ran out. 

The kids lined up to dutifully compliment each other on a good game, and Cora steered Stiles around so she could introduce him as Derek’s fiancé. It was kind of a shock hearing himself referred to that way, but at the same time, he couldn’t stop smiling as the parents—a little overzealously, maybe—congratulated him. 

Derek came up to grab the ice cream. “Hey, thanks for getting this. You want to meet the team?”

“Really?”

Derek just smiled at him and took Stiles’ hand, and Stiles stumbled after him in a happy daze. “Hey, Yellow Finches, everyone make a circle and listen up. This is Stiles—”

A hand shot up. “Like Harry Styles?” 

“Uh, sure,” said Derek, clearly clueless as to who they were talking about. “I wanted you to meet Stiles because we’re getting married in a couple of weeks!”

The kids were needlessly dramatic, Stiles thought, with their open mouths and gasps of surprise, but he guessed a gay marriage was still a big enough deal to impress them.

“What about us?” demanded May, widening her stance a little. The girl next to her tried to copy her exactly.

“I’ll still be your coach and we’ll have practice at the same time as always. Cora might fill in for a few days, though. You remember Cora?”

“Yes,” May said firmly, and a few other kids echoed her. 

“Okay, good,” said Derek, and he glanced bashfully at Stiles. Stiles got the idea that Derek was usually less reserved around the team, but Stiles was throwing him off.

Time to save the day. “I brought you all ice cream!” said Stiles. 

The kids cheered obligingly. May was less enthusiastic. Yup, that was Cora as a child.

Stiles let the kids take whatever they wanted, giving them high-fives, and Derek nagged them all to say thank you. “Hey, Cora, who’s the bigger dad right now, me or Derek?” Stiles crowed as one took far too long to choose an ice cream flavor. 

“I’m not playing this game with you,” said Cora, eyes on her smart phone.

Stiles spotted Brant standing kind of sulkily next to his mom. “Brant, you like cranberries, right?”

Brant lit up. “Mom, please!”

“They’re unsweetened,” Stiles supplied.

“Okay, just don’t eat too much,” said his mom, and Brant cheered, rushing forward.

“Thank you, Stiles,” said Brant.

“You’re welcome, dude. High-five?”

Brant shook his head and put out his fist for a fist bump. 

“Oh, yeah, cool,” said Stiles. “Like Obama, right?”

“It’s cleaner,” said Brant.

“That it is,” said Stiles, looking at Derek, who was watching them both with a fond look on his face.

The kids dispersed pretty fast once they got their ice cream, so Derek started walking with Stiles to the parking lot. 

“So we’re adopting Brant,” began Stiles in a reasonable tone of voice.

“No.”

“Because that poor kid was way too excited to eat dried cranberries.”

“He’s fine.”

“ _Cranberries_ , Derek. They’re almost raisins.”

“He’s on an organic diet. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!” Stiles threw his hands up in the air, narrowly missing Derek’s head with the bag of leftover ice cream. “Imagine how fun it would be to just blow his mind. Pshhh!” Stiles made an explosion motion with his hands. 

“You went shopping today?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. What do you think?” Stiles made a spastic move that was half Vanna White and half jazz hands.

“You look like a camp counselor.”

“Not working on you, huh?” Stiles tried not to deflate, but it was awfully hard.

“I didn’t say that,” said Derek, moving closer to speak directly into Stiles’ ear. “Ready to find a house?”

“You want to go home first?” 

“No, we can go now. Cora! You can drive home.”

“Okay,” said Cora’s voice, far away. Stiles turned around and spotted her on the other side of the parking lot, taking her sweet time.

“Catch,” said Derek, and he threw his keys to her.

She caught them, of course. 

Show-offs, the both of them.

“You know, that was unbelievably unnecessary,” said Stiles, unlocking the Jeep. “Your car is literally right here. Like, you could have just left the keys on top of it.” 

“I can do that with the ice cream if that’ll make you happy.”

“Oh, yeah.” Stiles tossed him the bag, Derek put it on top of his Camaro, and they got into the Jeep, waving goodbye to Cora. “See? See how easy and not flamboyant that was?”

“Jealous?”

“Obviously.” Stiles pulled out of the parking lot and handed Derek the binder. “Here. The directions to our first house, where the realtor is meeting us in ten minutes. I texted her while all the soccer moms were swooning over you.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but he took the binder. 

The first house was fine in that “fine, I guess,” sort of way, with fake wood paneling in every room and dirty sea green carpeting. It was definitely livable, and Stiles couldn’t deny he was excited to have a whole house just for him and Derek, but they spent the whole tour making vague shrugs and iffy hand gestures. 

When they followed the realtor’s car to the next neighborhood, Derek let out a big sigh, and his eyebrows were making an alarming V in the middle of his forehead. 

“What is it?” said Stiles, looking around.

“This is Isaac’s old neighborhood.”

“Okay?”

“His dad wasn’t a good person.” Derek looked out the window and swallowed.

“Oh. _Oh_.” Stiles wasn’t going to pry, but he could read enough between the lines to get it. Even if it wasn’t the same house, if Isaac came over for a visit—and he obviously would, he was in Derek’s pack—it could still trigger some bad memories. 

He pulled over to the side and called the realtor as she was getting out of the car. “Hey, Kristy. This one’s a no-go.”

“What? You sure you don’t want to see it?”

“Yeah, uh, I saw a black cat and you can’t be too suspicious, you know?” Stiles laughed, sounding painfully fake, and winced at Derek. 

Derek gave him a lopsided smile in return.

“No problem whatsoever,” said Kristy, sounding like she was clenching her jaw a little. “We’ll just go to the next one.”

Derek put his hand on Stiles’. “Thank you,” he said, “for understanding.”

Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand before he took it back to use the gear shift and follow Kristy’s car. “I totally get it, man. I am a connoisseur of good vibes these days. If a place gives bad vibes, I am out.”

The next house was _the one_ , Stiles knew it, even before he got out. “Derek. This is it. I’m getting amazingly good vibes this time.”

“We should go see it first.”

“They have a big yard for Chewie! And windmills! I bet you this house is owned by old people, and as everyone knows, old people are the best. When they’re not the worst. But these seem like the nice ones, you know?”

They went through the front gate, walked through the avenue of rainbow-colored windmills and met the realtor inside the covered porch. “This house was built in 1923,” Kristy started, “and it’s only been owned by two families in that time, so it has a lot of the original windows and moldings.” She unlocked the door and let them inside. They entered a long living room full of polyester furniture and a small tv.

 _Old people_ , Stiles mouthed at Derek.

“You can keep the furniture, but anything you don’t want, the family will take it to Goodwill. You’re welcome to paint the walls, as long as you’re willing to repaint it at the end of your rental period and patch up any holes. As you can see, the living room leads into the kitchen, which is a great set-up for entertaining—”

“Thanks, Kristy. Come on, let’s look at the kitchen,” said Stiles, grabbing Derek by the hand and moving on. “I think I saw there’s a laundry room back here—yes! Okay, what do you think so far? Good vibes? Good smells?”

Derek gave him a look. 

“To me, it smells like happy old people who are not homophobes.”

“Do you know these people, by any chance?”

Stiles pretended to be shocked. “How on earth did you guess? Sort of. Scott’s mom works with their daughter, who is a lesbian and has their full support, so we can rest assured that there won’t be any passive-aggressive refusals to fix broken stuff based on our ‘lifestyle’,” he said, waggling his fingers in air quotes. “Also, dogs are allowed with only a hundred dollar deposit, which is pretty impossible to find.”

Derek glanced back at Kristy, who had given up on her spiel and was leaning against the kitchen counter, stretching leisurely. “How many bedrooms?”

“Three. Wanna see? Kristy, we’re just going to look around, okay?”

Kristy just waved absently at them and pulled out her phone. She could probably sense a deal already.

It took less than fifteen minutes to see everything, the backyard, the master bedroom with en suite, the detached garage with creaky, spiderwebby doors. There was gross linoleum and carpet in a couple places, but most of the house had been stripped down to its original wooden floors, which made the same sort of pleasant creaking noises as Laura’s house, which couldn’t hurt Stiles’ campaign. The walls had been freshly painted in neutral colors, and the light fixtures were old brassy things, vintage enough to look oddly new. It was old, but well taken care of.

And while Derek wasn’t babbling about how perfect it was, Stiles could tell he was happy with how often he was touching Stiles—on the shoulder, on the back of the neck, holding hands whenever they were near each other. Every time he did it, Stiles felt like he’d just swallowed a warm gulp of hot chocolate.

AKA, the best feeling ever.

“When can we move in?” Derek finally asked, and Stiles punched the air in triumph.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to include [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1XFRh9B2WE/) because it's like Stiles wrote it.
> 
> Also, real question because I haven’t lived stateside in 7 years (!!!): How do Americans message each other now? Is it all on snapchat? Whatsapp? Line? I’m old and abroad and out of the loop. I’ve been writing these messages like they’re on kakaotalk, where you can have groups and rename your friends, and I realized too late that it might not work for this fic.


	16. Those muddy buddies'll get ya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday night, June 6.  
> Stiles knew better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone not familiar with muddy buddies (or puppy chow, which I now see is an obvious wasted opportunity), they're the kind of peanut butter/chocolate deliciousness that would ruin Stiles and ruin me. Recipe [here.](https://www.allrecipes.com/recipe/229544/chex-muddy-buddies/)

Back at Laura’s house, Derek made grilled salmon for dinner, enlisting Stiles in the kitchen, which was just so beautifully comfortable that Stiles wondered if that hot chocolatey feeling was ever going to go away. It was hard not to lose himself in fantasies now that he knew what their lives together could look like—waking up in the master bedroom that faced east, with light streaming through the blinds, making coffee and breakfast on a Saturday morning…

It was a miracle Stiles didn’t cut a finger off.

They ate dinner, and Laura contributed the extent of her cooking skills by making a gigantic batch of Chex muddy buddies, since she’d heard from Scott that Stiles had a thing for peanut butter and chocolate. Stiles grinned at her and didn’t stop himself from having as much as he wanted this time. His mood was high, and he wasn’t in danger of crashing.

They played a round of Cards Against Humanity, which Laura won, partially since Stiles picked her card every time he was the judge. Cora accused him of sucking up to Derek’s alpha.

“I’m trying to pick Derek’s card, dangit!” protested Stiles, which made the sisters coo all over him.

All in all, it was easy. And Stiles had a weird realization that it had been less than three weeks since his first meeting with Laura. 

Maybe they were floating on a fantasy, and everything would fall down.

Maybe his natural chemistry with Derek would fizzle down to reluctant tolerance and obligation.

Maybe they would lose all respect for each other, or hurt each other, or any of the thousand terrible possibilities in their future.

But then again, Stiles thought as he latched onto Derek’s arm and leaned his head on his shoulder, maybe not.

Stiles eventually got up to get more snacks for everyone, and his phone buzzed in his pocket. Expecting either Scott or one of his college friends, he turned on the screen.

**Derek > do you want to sleep in my room tonight?**

**Derek > or the guest room?**

**Derek > whatever you want is ok**

**Derek > or maybe you want to drive back tonight**

Stiles grinned as he texted back. He could just feel Derek’s nerves from twenty feet away.

**Stiles > your room? sleeping in the guest room after last night would feel weird i think**

**Derek > ok**

Stiles slipped his phone into his pocket and carried the refilled bowl of Chex muddy buddies back into the living room where everyone was sitting on the floor around the coffee table. He was feeling good until he looked for Derek’s reaction.

Derek’s face was a blank mask.

Stiles felt that pang in the gut that meant he’d made a mistake. Derek was just offering his room because he felt like he should. Or maybe he meant it at first, but then he panicked and now he was regretting it. 

Maybe Derek felt Stiles’ mood take a nosedive, because he turned to Stiles and his eyebrows jumped up in an unspoken question.

Stiles smiled at him as best as he could, but he knew he didn’t pull it off.

He started just throwing in cards at random, ignoring what anyone said to him. How long did this game go, anyway?

Stiles knew he was acting weird, that he needed to just pull himself out of it before he attracted the attention of Derek’s nosy sisters, but suddenly the act of faking it seemed both hateful and impossible. If Derek didn’t actually want him, he needed to know now.

He knew in the back of his mind that this freakout was somewhat familiar territory, but this time he was facing a new, terrifying prospect—that Derek was faking this, all of it, in order to keep his pack safe. 

And Stiles shouldn’t care about that, not really, because they could make this marriage more transactional, just a means to an end, and it would still shut out the nogitsune. There were entire cultures that celebrated arranged marriages, marriages based on respect and mutual advantage, and apparently they went swimmingly.

But the past twenty-four hours had given him a glimpse of a tantalizing future, full of warmth and hominess and sex, everything he’d ever wanted, and he was afraid—

_Stiles iles iles iles_

The nogitsune’s voice echoed in his mind.

Stiles raked his fingertips down his thighs, trying to come up with a plan to calm himself before—

_What do you call a—_

“Hey,” said Derek, his hands running up and down Stiles’ arms in a soothing manner. “Maybe we should go to sleep.”

“Huh?” Stiles opened his eyes, not having noticed that he’d closed them in the first place. They were alone in the living room, and the lights in the house were off, with the exception of the living room and the hallway. “Where’s—”

“They decided to give us some privacy. I’m sorry if I freaked you out earlier with the text message. Really, anything you want to do is fine with me.”

Stiles fixed his eyes back on Derek, who moved a hand to cover his pulse point. “What do you want me to do?”

“It doesn’t matter to me. I just want you to be comfortable.”

“Derek, I need to know. What do you want me to do?”

Derek’s hands paused on his shoulders, and he saw the moment when Derek realized Stiles wasn’t going to drop it. “I want you to stay with me,” he said, “but if you want some space, I understand. We’ve been together a lot since this all began.”

“I don’t mind that.”

“Me, neither.”

They sat there for a long moment, Stiles propped up against the couch and Derek in a half-crouch that would tire out anyone with less than super strength. The only noise in the house was someone using a sink upstairs and Derek’s dog twitching softly in the corner, dreaming.

“I just don’t see how this can be real,” said Stiles, his voice sounding frustratingly weak. “Like, people don’t just _like_ me so easily, you know? I have to work hard to get people to want to be my friend. And you barely know me. Either you’ve built me up to be some mythical creature in your mind, or you’re pretending to like me, or maybe you’re just pretending to yourself, because _this_ ,” Stiles gestured between them, “doesn’t make sense.”

“It doesn’t make sense that I like you?” Derek asked, scowling in a way that Stiles had to try really hard not to take personally. “What do you mean?”

Stiles sighed. “I don’t know. I’m sorry, I’m just freaking out over nothing, maybe. Let’s go sleep.” He started getting up, but Derek slid one of his hands until he was holding Stiles by the wrist.

“Wait a minute. Is this because… I know it’s hard to believe me when I say I’m attracted to you because I’m not showing it yet, but…” Derek looked down and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better.” He leaned closer, his gaze on Stiles’ mouth, growing intention on his face.

Stiles jolted back.

“Stiles?”

He closed his eyes. “Please don’t kiss me right now.”

Derek moved back again, hurt and confusion in his eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry. Maybe I should have asked.”

“No, that’s not it, it’s—I don’t think you’re ready.”

“You don’t think _I’m_ ready? It was my idea!”

“I think you don’t actually want to kiss me. I think you just want to solve me. Or solve yourself. I don’t know.”

“Isn’t—”

“I’m sorry, I’m splitting hairs, and I’m freaking out, and I should probably just relax and go with the flow, but.” He didn’t have any ending for that sentence.

“What if I really want to kiss you?”

Stiles met Derek’s eyes, shockingly pale at the moment, and he couldn’t bear to believe him. “But you don’t. You haven’t wanted to even touch me this whole time, and now I’m causing a scene and you feel like it’s your duty. Like it’s more of Morrell’s damn homework. Even if you mean it, the context sucks.”

Derek shifted and leaned forward, looking a little hurt. “Stiles, I know we haven’t been following some arbitrary milestones that other people might believe in, but I… what about last night? Do you think I was forcing myself to hold you?”

Stiles felt his heart sink. He’d somehow forgotten all about last night. Like reality had no bearing on his current pity party.

“I’m not lying to you when I say I want to hold you. I have hangups, but I’ve been as honest as I know how to be.”

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” said Stiles, withdrawing his hands so he could bury his face in them. “You’ve been amazing, and you shouldn’t have to stand up for yourself just because I’m not paying attention. I should know you better than this.”

“Hey,” Derek admonished softly, shifting closer. “I think that’s just something people do when they’re down. We all make up lies in our head to justify the way we feel, and don’t even know we’re doing it. I…” His voice went quiet, confessional like it had been the night before. “When Laura and I went to New York, and we thought it was just us, I used to make up the most terrible things about her when I was having a bad day. That she was looking for a new pack, she was trying to get rid of me, that she wasn’t a naturally forgiving person and would never forgive me for letting Kate into our house.”

“Toxic thinking patterns,” said Stiles, a session with his therapist coming back to memory. Fuck. He should have recognized it.

“Yeah. Obviously, none of those things were true. Laura figured it out pretty quickly that I’d been sleeping with Kate, because of the smell,” said Derek, grimacing. “She was just giving me room, being supportive the way she knew how, even though she was also grieving.”

“I’m sorry, Derek,” said Stiles, still feeling ashamed. “I should have remembered everything you’ve been doing for me.”

“I don’t want you to have to remind yourself, though. I want you to just know it.” His eyes crinkled a bit in self-deprecating humor. “My sisters are always telling me to use my words.”

They made quite a pair, arguing that they were both to blame. “You know what? Fuck this,” said Stiles. “I’m having a sugar crash. This is what I get for getting overconfident and eating a shit ton of sugary cereal.” He gave Derek a tired smile and shrugged. “Give me ten days, and I’ll be much easier to handle.”

“Nevertheless, I’ll try to do better until then.” Derek tapped a mole on Stiles’ neck thoughtfully, meeting his eyes. “Do you remember the last time we saw each other, before all this?”

“Yeah, two years ago, at the picnic, right?”

“I wanted to ask you out. I even Facebook stalked you a little when Scott said you were coming.”

“What? No way! Why didn’t you?”

This time, it was Derek’s turn to shrug. “I chickened out.”

“You chickened—” Stiles hung his mouth open. This would take some worldview-shifting before he could accept it.

“Yeah. You were hot.”

Stiles just stared at him. Data did not compute.

Derek snickered at him and stood up, holding out both hands. Stiles let him pull him up. 

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” said Derek.

“Holy shit.”

“Are you okay?” said Derek, lifting one eyebrow as he led the way down the hall to his room. 

“Yeah, I just—yeah.”

Derek steered Stiles into the hallway bathroom to wash up and brush his teeth. Stiles finished quickly, but he didn’t leave the safety of the bathroom just yet. He needed a moment to get some distance from the shit he’d just pulled.

The sun, the moon, the truth. The sun, the moon, the truth. 

Tonight, the pack motto gave him a sense of home, of safety. 

He heard the upstairs bathroom and guessed Derek must be using it, tired of waiting for Stiles.

He braced his arms on the sink and stared at himself in the mirror. Now, he had dark smudges under his eyes, his skin was less than perfect, and his mouth drooped tiredly in the corner.

It was hard to believe that two summers ago, Derek had seen him and thought, ‘yeah, I want to hit that.’ 

And he still did. Stiles had more than enough evidence to know that. Derek wanted Stiles, enough that he’d initiated a game of gay chicken that morning (question for later: did it count as gay chicken if they were both gay?) They would have kissed already, if Stiles hadn’t jumped to bad conclusions. 

Tonight should have been a kind of victory for Derek, a sign of his progress. And Stiles threw his issues back in his face.

He sighed, patted his face dry one more time, and found his way back to Derek’s room.

Derek was sitting on his bed, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, leaning his elbows on his knees. He didn’t move an inch when Stiles came in, clutching his travel toothbrush. His mood had obviously shifted during the last five minutes, losing the easy cameraderie he’d used to soothe Stiles’ fears.

“Are you angry with me?” Stiles had to fix this, right now, even if he was still feeling shaky, even if his voice sounded week and annoying to his own ears.

“I don’t want to be,” said Derek, staring at his bedroom wall, his toes twitching in the carpet underfoot. “I’m trying to remember that anger is a secondary emotion, you know, that whole spiel.”

Stiles knew. During his most recent stint with a therapist, three years ago, he’d uncovered a fair amount of anger, most of it at his father. For drinking the year after his mom died, for forcing Stiles to grow up too fast. For not taking care of himself well enough. Dealing with that anger had meant acknowledging his fear of being left again, and accepting that his dad’s problems with alcohol and food were a reflection on the sheriff’s relationship with himself, not with Stiles. 

“Can you talk to me about it?” asked Stiles, having a pretty good idea why Derek was upset, but guessing he should have the floor first.

Derek sighed. “I don’t like it that you didn’t believe me. I understand why you didn’t—the context made it seem like I was just trying to make you feel better, but I really did want to kiss you. I _do_ want to.” He shifted and looked at Stiles, sad and frustrated. “Even after I told you that you’re welcome to reciprocate, you’re still keeping your distance. And I don’t think it’s because you want to.”

Stiles felt thoroughly chastened. He slowly walked to the desk and sat in the chair as he listened to Derek, shoulders slumped.

“I’m know,” Stiles whispered. “I understand why you’re upset with me.”

“You know I trust you, Stiles, but you have to trust me too.”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. He still felt fuzzy and out of sorts. He’d work on doing better tomorrow.

“Oh, Stiles.”

Stiles looked up, nearly alarmed. Derek was looking at him in a way that was unbearably soft, sad and fond. He stood up and came Stiles’ way, then knelt down so he was looking up at him a little, warm in his nearness. “Next time I try to kiss you, I’ll make it very clear that I want to. I don’t want you to misinterpret it.”

“No, you shouldn’t have to make a big deal out of it, I just—”

Derek rested his hands on Stiles’ knees. “I should take care of you until you’re strong again, and even after that. That’s the deal.”

Stiles felt his eyes start to water. This was too intense, too fast, they barely knew each other, and yet.

It felt _real_. 

“I think maybe we’re both too tired for this,” said Derek, laughing a little apologetically. 

Stiles laughed too, briskly wiping the tears from his eyes. “Yeah, probably.”

Derek stared up at him for a minute, his pale eyes searching for something in Stiles’ expression, then slid their hands together and stood up, pulling Stiles along with him. 

“Come on.” 

Derek lay down first, and Stiles followed him gladly, reading Derek’s expression, wriggling closer and reminding himself that _this much was okay, you could have this_. Derek smoothed a hand over Stiles’ neck, then rested it down on his hip. 

Stiles wanted to breach the distance between them, kiss Derek on the temple like Derek had the night before, and remembered that he could. He had to trust Derek.

Stiles reached up until he could press a kiss to Derek’s hairline. When he pulled back, Derek wasn’t quite smiling, but his face shone with things unsaid, and he pulled Stiles closer.

“I’m not very good at this,” said Stiles, mumbling a little, feeling drowsy. “My longest relationship is, like, two weeks long at most.”

“Our relationship wouldn’t be considered typical, anyway,” said Derek, chuckling a little and moving his thumb over Stiles’ hip, just under the hem of his t-shirt.

“Yeah. Before most people get married, they have all these milestones,” said Stiles, closing his eyes. “Anniversaries, and the first-second-third date progression, and freaking out over Valentine’s Day. You know. Having a song.” He grimaced. “Or so I hear.”

“Like having a restaurant you always go to together?”

Stiles hummed in agreement. “Like, for date nights and stuff. Exactly.”

“Do you wish we had all of that?”

“No, I’m happy with us. But sometimes I imagine it. I wonder if we would still work in a normal dating relationship, or if we would give up too quickly. You know, do the easy thing.”

“Between your anxiety and my hangups?” Derek’s hand started moving again, and Stiles liked it, that he knew at least this much of Derek’s body language, that he gave shoulder rubs and hip rubs when he was relaxed and content.

That when Stiles was sleepy and worn down, Derek instinctually soothed him, gave affection freely. Stiles was nearly asleep already.

“And how I usually move too fast. I think you’d be freaked out by me if we were just dating like normal people. .” 

Stiles tried to listen to whatever Derek said in response to that, but he must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, he was rolling over and blinking into sunlight.

 

* * *

 

“Feeling better?”

Stiles turned back to see Derek laying on his stomach, resting his head on his folded arms, looking back at Stiles. This was his second morning waking up next to Derek Hale. He should probably get around to pinching himself.

“Fantastic,” Stiles said, his voice coming out creaky. He arched his back against the bed in a long stretch, arms reaching over his head. “I didn’t get any nightmares.”

And the craziest thing happened.

Derek’s eyes dilated.

Like, it was one thing to remember that was a sign of arousal, and another to see Derek’s pupils expand in the space of a second, and to know that Stiles was the cause.

“Something about this doing it for you?” said Stiles, his own heartbeat ratcheting up in response. 

Derek buried his head in his pillow, but his ears still showed, and they were rapidly turning pink. 

“Really? After you didn’t even notice my short shorts yesterday?”

“Oh, I noticed,” said Derek, groaning and flexing minutely against the bed, like he couldn’t help himself.

Stiles levered himself up onto one elbow and grinned stupidly at him.

“Stop it,” grumbled Derek.

“I’m literally not doing anything.”

“You’re putting out all these happy—” Derek’s arm flailed around in a way that made Stiles wonder if he was rubbing off on him—” _feelings_ , and...”

“And?” 

Derek tilted his head enough to fix one glaring eye on him. Combined with his mussed hair and the smell of Derek’s sheets, Stiles was about to have his own problem if he wasn’t careful. 

And while it was tempting to just roll Derek over and kiss the living daylights out of him, to straddle his waist and grind down, Stiles also had no desire to do something that would jeopardize this moment, this feeling they’d somehow cultivated. This was also really, really good.

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked carefully. “On the twenty-first.”

Derek took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said, turning again to look at Stiles. “I think so. I’m excited, even. Just, it’s still a little…”

Stiles nodded. He didn’t quite get it, he couldn’t, but he had the basic idea. He wondered what they would be now, if Jennifer Blake hadn’t turned out to be a nightmare of a person, someone who just might have magicked Derek into dating her in the first place, another person who used Derek’s body for their own gain.

But Derek said he was excited. To have sex. With Stiles. 

Stiles might have to tattoo that somewhere on his body, for posterity.

After a moment, Derek disentangled a hand and laid it on Stiles’ cheek, thumb brushing across his cheekbone, a move that Stiles was also starting to read as one of his favorites. Something he’d never noticed Derek doing with anyone else, and he wondered was just for him.

Eyes sliding shut, Stiles whispered. “I would wait as long as you needed, if I could.”

He heard Derek take a shaky breath. “I know.”


	17. The third session

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monday, July 11  
> Derek and Stiles go to pre-marital counseling a third time

Monday brought their third and final premarital counseling session with Marin Morrell. Stiles walked in feeling as confident as he’d been since this whole ordeal started, and Derek took his hand with a smile before they went in. 

They told her about their struggle to be open to each other, about their packs meddling and succeeding, and about their shared secrets. Morrell was professional enough that Stiles couldn’t tell if any of this information was new to her; like Deaton, she was inscrutable when she wanted to be. But it was good to tell another person about his struggles with the nogitsune, and he was proud of Derek for telling her the shortened version of his own story.

Morrell didn’t give them a gold star, but she didn’t try to correct anything they said about the past week either, so Stiles still felt like they’d won something. A certificate saying “You Didn’t Screw It Up, Against All Odds” wouldn’t have felt out of place. 

Morrell flipped to a new page in her notebook and looked up. “Next, we need to address your financial situation. Have you talked about money yet?”

Derek and Stiles looked at each other.

“Not really,” said Stiles, meaning not at all. 

“No time like the present,” said Morrell, splaying out her hands in invitation.

“I should probably go first,” said Derek, taking a deep breath. “I make just about three grand a month from the county, enough to live comfortably. I usually don’t spend that much, but I also have some insurance money from the fire. It’s a little more than $800,000.”

Stiles’ mouth fell open. He knew the Hales had money—Laura’s house was nice, and you didn’t see refurbished Camaros rolling around every day—but Derek was almost a millionaire. 

“I haven’t been able to use it,” Derek continued, hunching down a little. “But I think you should know.”

“No wonder Laura can help pay for our house,” said Stiles, still gaping. 

“Yeah. I know that I should probably pay for it myself, but I just—I’m not ready, yet. I just can’t.”

“Derek, is this something that you’re discussing with your current therapist?” asked Morrell, fixing him with a serious stare.

“We’ve discussed it,” said Derek, kicking one foot out and looking young for once, “but not lately. I make enough to live on now, and I usually try not to think about it.”

Stiles could understand why. In Derek’s eyes, it was probably something akin to blood money. Evidence of his guilt. 

But. 

$800,000.

“Stiles? What’s your financial situation?” asked Morrell, lifting an eyebrow in his direction.

Stiles laughed shortly. “I have about $500. I’m a recent grad with no job, $44,000 in school loans, and I’ve been bumming off my dad and my pack ever since I got back to Beacon Heights.”

“What’s your plan for living expenses?”

“I’ll pay—”

“We’ll split it—” started Stiles, then he looked at Derek. “We’ll split it, right?”

“Maybe after you get a job, but until then I can buy groceries and pay utilities. I mean, I do have the money. I just haven’t been using it.”

“No, if you’re not ready to use it, you shouldn’t use it,” said Stiles, turning Derek’s way so they could talk directly. “Just because we’re married doesn’t mean I think what’s yours is mine. I’ll borrow some money from my dad if I need to. Let’s just pretend that insane amount of money doesn’t exist until you decide what you want to do with it. I know how to live cheaply, Derek.”

“Alright, how about this? I’ll pay for utilities and groceries for two months, then depending on the job you find, we can split it fifty fifty. It’s not a loan,” he said, cutting off Stiles’ protest with a raised hand. “I’m not going to have my husband paying me back.”

Stiles was so flustered, hearing Derek refer to him as his husband, that he flushed and mumbled out an okay. “But I’m not ready to have a joint bank account,” he said, looking at Morrell like she might yell at him.

“Actually, that might be best for now,” said Morrell. “Sharing financial resources takes a tremendous amount of trust and a mutual understanding of what you want to accomplish as a couple. Sharing a bank account is not necessary for a healthy marriage, either. Some couples just find it easier.”

Derek looked like he wouldn’t have minded merging, but he looked at Stiles and correctly interpreted Stiles’ nonverbal _over my dead body_. “Okay,” he said simply.

“Look at you, negotiating like a Stilinski,” said Stiles, making Derek almost smile.

They spent the rest of the hour talking about whether they wanted children. They were both open to it, fortunately, but not for at least a few years. Stiles was relieved to find out they were on the same page in that respect.

Morrell glanced at the clock when there was about ten minutes left. 

“I know that look,” said Stiles, sending Derek a commiserating grimace. “What’s the homework this time?” 

Morrell gave them a wicked smile. “What do you think it should be?”

They looked at each other before answering.

“I need to trust Derek more,” said Stiles, meeting Derek’s eyes and letting it ground him. “He says communicating is hard for him, but he’s been doing a really good job. The problem is that I haven’t been believing him. I think it’s because I can’t believe how lucky I am, that he chose me. That we have a real connection.” Stiles felt his whole face going red, and Derek looked at him like he was looking at a sunrise.

Derek took his hand and squeezed it, utterly serious. “I need to help Stiles. He’s under a tremendous pressure right now. I need to make sure he knows I want him, and not just assume he knows. I know I can be hard to read sometimes, and I’m not the most open person.”

Stiles made an unhappy noise.

“I know you have some pride, but don’t worry about being too needy,” said Derek, tugging on his hand for emphasis. “This is what you need right now. I want to be better.”

Stiles swallowed, and he looked down before Derek could notice his eyes getting hot. He didn’t know how Derek could possibly do more for him, but the fact that he even wanted to made Stiles feel safe in a way he hadn’t in a long time. In a way that was elusive when he wasn’t waking up next to Derek.

Stiles stopped thinking after that realization.

“I think that sounds like an excellent plan,” said Morrell, breaking them out of the spell they’d fallen into. She was smiling at them, and it wasn’t just the cool smile of a professional cheerleader. “We can schedule another appointment after you get married.” She stood up, signaling the session was over.

They both stood up, still hand in hand, and Derek cleared his throat. “Will we see you at the binding ceremony?”

“If you don’t mind,” said Morrell, a little surprised, but looking as delighted as they’d ever seen her. 

“I’d like you to be there,” said Derek, looking at Stiles again.

“Both of us would,” said Stiles. 

“I would be honored.” Morrell shook their hands, and Stiles had to let go in order to shake hers. “Until then, best of luck to you both.”

“Thank you,” said Stiles, and they walked out the door into the garden, hands swinging gently between them. They paused in her driveway, Stiles’ Jeep on one side and Derek’s Camaro on the other, and held on.

“What?” asked Derek, smirking at him.

“What?”

“You’re really happy right now.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from bursting into a grin. He pulled Derek a little closer. “I—it just hit me. We feel like a real couple. Not just boyfriends, you know? Like, a real, serious, couple.”

Derek didn’t reply to that, but he did wrap Stiles in his arms and hold him close. 

The weather was hot, sunny and vibrant in that marketably Californian way, and their t-shirts rapidly became clammy with perspiration, but Stiles held on. He didn’t care. 

“What are you doing Wednesday night?” asked Derek, his mouth just next to Stiles' ear.

“Mmm, sitting around in my underwear eating popsicles?”

Derek chuckled, rocking a them both with the force of it. “As hot as that sounds—”

_holy shit he didn’t mean that did he_

“—what do you say to going on a date?”

“A date?” Stiles pulled back to look into Derek’s face. 

“Yeah. Like, a real, serious, couple date,” Derek mimicked, dimpling at Stiles like it was his job.

“I guess I could be into that,” said Stiles aloofly, knowing that Derek could probably feel his pulse pick up in interest.

“Good.” Derek kissed Stiles on the cheek, and it was an easy movement, comfortable and cheerful. “Good.”  
  


* * *

  
  
“Gross!” announced Brett when Stiles walked in the door of the pack house.

Stiles smirked at him and flipped him off as he walked into the kitchen to grab something to drink.

Brett followed him. “Wow, somebody got laid,” he snarked. “You’ve got all the vibes.”

“There has been no getting laid,” said Stiles, flinging open the refrigerator door and snagging the last soda. They only bought sodas from an Asian grocery store 70 miles away, which meant no matter what he was drinking, it was going to be magical and sparkling. “And what do you know? You’re like, twelve.” Brett was twenty, but same difference.

“You got laid emotionally, then. At pre-marital counseling, because you’re a ding-dong.”

Stiles just gave him a shit-eating grin and chugged from the bottle. “I got a date,” he said after he pulled it away and took a deep breath.

“Have you not been dating?” asked Brett, leaning against the kitchen island and narrowing his eyes.

“We haven’t been doing things in order, exactly.”

“Yeah, that’s an understatement. You were basically engaged before you saw each other.”

“I knew him before,” protested Stiles, standing next to him.

“You hadn’t seen the guy for two years. This whole things takes serious balls.”

“Thank you.”

“So I’m glad you have a date.”

Stiles looked at Brett suspiciously. Saying nice things was not something they did to each other.

“Hey, are you going to need your Jeep on Wednesday?” asked Brett, super casual and friendly.

“Maybe,” said Stiles slowly. “We haven’t worked out the details yet.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Brett nodded sagely. “If you don’t, do you think maybe I could borrow it? I just so happen to also have a date on Wednesday. Crazy coincidence, right?”

“With Myra?”

Brett nodded again. “Yeah. It’s, uh, nothing serious, you know? But she’s driven the last three times, so I think it’s my turn.”

“It’s definitely your turn,” said Stiles, snorting a bit. “Especially considering you’ve been dutch paying this whole time. _Everything must be exactly equal_ ,” he mimicked in a grave voice.

“So that’s a yes?”

“If I don’t need it, then yes.”

Brett threw his hands in the air and crowed. “No take-backs,” he said, and he whipped the soda right out of Stiles’ hands and chugged the whole thing.

“Nooooo!” whined Stiles, chasing him around the kitchen island in vain. “It was the peach kind!” 

“Whine about it to your fiancé!” yelled Brett, tossing the bottle into the recycling can and escaping out the back door.

Stiles glared after him for a second, but then he thought better of it. “Yeah, okay,” he said, and pulled out his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for your comments and your kudos! Every time I get them it's like Christmas.  
> I'm still interested in any con-crit you can offer! I'm currently angsting over the possibility that I'm relying too much on dialogue and not enough on action. Are there any conversations so far that you thought were less than necessary? Or does the dialogue-heavy style work for you?  
> Separate question: do you think I need more of Stiles' internal monologues?  
> Finally, I don't have any song recommendations for these chapters, so if you have any suggestions please tell me! I love finding new music.


	18. The date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday night, June 13  
> What it says on the label

Derek picked him up at Satomi’s house, since Stiles spent the day there practicing magical exercises with Hideyo, and Brett had left with his Jeep not long before anyway. Derek was wearing his usual-but-always-titillating summer uniform of a short-sleeve buttoned shirt and shorts that were just short enough to draw attention to his hairy, muscular thighs. 

Stiles just let himself slump against the door frame and let out a swoony sigh. 

“Ready?” asked Derek, blushing just a bit and looking nervous.

Stiles was in a fantastic mood, and the sight of Derek looking nervous because of a date with him just made it better, so as he closed the door he moved right up into Derek’s space. “So ready,” he murmured, letting his mouth hang open, tapping one finger on Derek’s chest before moving on. He looked back to see if it had an affect.

Derek was shifting his feet with a dopey smile on his face. 

“Derek?”

“Huh?” Derek looked up at him like someone suddenly awakened.

“Do you need to talk to Satomi or something?” Stiles couldn’t hide his smirk if he tried.

“Shut up,” said Derek, his ears now glowing red, and they got into his Camaro.

Derek gave himself about 30 seconds to drive away from Satomi’s before he cleared his throat and glanced at Stiles. “Okay, first off, where’s your favorite diner in Beacon Heights? Or, if you can’t decide, what’s your Wednesday diner?”

“Aww, you remembered my diner addiction!” crooned Stiles. “It’s next to the Les Schwab, you know, the one south of here?”

Derek did know that one, it turned out. They went inside, Stiles chattering away happily, and they ordered shakes and fries at the register and asked for takeout.

“To go, huh? What for?” asked Stiles, trying to stuff his mouth with fries while holding the diner door open and carry the shakes all at once.

“We need them for a stakeout,” said Derek, going ahead to his car. He opened Stiles’ door since his hands were full, then walked around to the driver’s side.

“Oh? Who’s the perp?”

“Brett,” said Derek, backing out of his parking space. When he got to the exit of the parking lot, he stuck his head out the window and inhaled deeply.

Stiles snorted.

“What, do you know where he is?” Derek looked like he was holding back embarrassment through sheer force of will.

“No idea. Sniff to your heart’s content.”

“Okay, I got it. He’s this way.” He settled back in his seat and turned right.

“No way were you able to smell Brett from the other side of town,” scoffed Stiles.

“I didn’t. I just had to smell your Jeep. Unless there’s another car leaking antifreeze and smelling like 5 years of lost curly fries.”

“You take that back. I clean it every month.”

“Hmm.”

“Okay, maybe I skipped this month. Or a couple months.”

“We’re almost there,” said Derek, turning right this time, charitably not calling Stiles out on his obvious lies. He turned right again, into the parking lot of a gas station, parking so they could peer through a gap of dusty barberry bushes, where Brett and Myra were happily digging into their burgers, windows down and radio playing.

“He took her to In-N-Out?” groaned Stiles. “It’s like he’s trying to impress her, a Californian, with how Californian he also is. Next you’ll see him start breaking out all the surfer slang, and he’ll be all, _hey dude, hey man, how’s it hanging bro_?”

Derek raised an eyebrow at Stiles.

“Shut up,” he said, his voice a little higher than was dignified. “So why are we stalking Brett on his date?”

“Because he’s annoying and karma’s a bitch?”

Stiles sucked on his straw and looked at Derek from the corner of his eye. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

“No, I’d rather let the surprise stay a surprise. How about you set the stage by telling me all the pranks he’s pulled?”

Stiles felt his eyebrows go up. He liked the direction this was headed. “Oh, where to start? Well, back in high school, it all began with him dunking my textbooks in water and freezing them. I had detention for two days, from two different teachers. This was when I was just starting to get in with the pack, so we weren’t even that close yet. So I retaliated by putting wolfsbane itching powder in his gym socks, to which he responded by—”

“Why don’t you stick to the greatest hits?” interrupted Derek, a little hastily.

“Mmm, how to choose?” Stiles sucked furiously at his milkshake. “Okay, I’ve got a good one. He put my car inside the business building lobby at school. By himself. And of course, nobody could figure out how he did it, because he picked it up and carried it up to the second floor, so everyone knew he didn’t just roll it in. This was just last year, at my university. It took three days before anyone could figure out how to get it outside again. He’s lucky I didn’t have to pay for that.”

Derek snorted. “What, did that come out of the budget for dumb student pranks?”

“Ha, must have. Do you think universities have those?”

“The ones with fraternities and sororities, absolutely.”

“What did you study again?”

“Community planning. My, uh, mom studied it. She talked about it a lot.”

“Cool.” Stiles realized he was holding Derek’s shake and fries hostage and handed them over.

Derek threw like six fries in his mouth, why was that hot, and put his milkshake between his knees. “Okay, before we start, are Brett and this girl doing good? Like, is screwing with their date going to mess them up?”

“Nah, they’re solid. Besides, Brett has screwed up more than one of _my_ dates.”

Derek nodded in satisfaction and took a long pull on his milkshake. “Second, you should know that any modifications that I may have done to your Jeep—”

Stiles’ heart stopped.

“— are _completely temporary_ , should you wish them to be, Stiles, please breathe.”

“Oh, yeah, no worries,” squeaked Stiles, heart pounding a little bit. “What, uh, what did you do to Roscoe, exactly? And when did you even—”

Derek had pulled out his phone now, and was fiddling with an app. He jabbed a button with his finger and leaned back in satisfaction. 

Stiles looked out the window, then over at Derek, then back again. “What—”

Dimly, from 30 yards away, he heard a familiar voice singing.

_“I’ve been really tryyyyyin’, baby_  
_Tryin’ to hold back my feeling for so long_  
_And if you feel like I feel, baby,_  
_Then come on, come on”_

Stiles turned to Derek with admiration. “Yessssss,” he hissed. “Thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

Derek chuckled, leaned on his steering wheel, and pointed ahead. “Look, he’s trying to turn it off.”

Brett’s head was indeed bent toward the dashboard, embarrassedly jabbing at the radio to make it stop playing “Let’s get it on” as quickly as possible. 

“What’s Myra doing?”

“Laughing at him. I think she might be kind of into it.” Derek pressed stop on his phone, and the music went back to Maroon 5, which Brett listened to way too much.

Stiles snickered and ate the last of his curly fries. “Okay, so you can play anything, right?” 

“Yeah. I think we should let him relax for a couple minutes, though. Any requests?”

Stiles snapped his fingers. “Oh, first we have to play Marvin Gaye, the Charlie Puth/Megan Trainor one, just like, the first fifteen seconds.”

“I don’t know it, but okay.”

“Just until he sings about karma sutra,” said Stiles, patting Derek’s shoulder excitedly.

Derek pulled the song up on Youtube, and they watched Brett freeze again, this time looking outside for a culprit.

“Oh, shit,” said Stiles, ducking down and pulling Derek with him. 

They stayed down, snickering quietly, even though Stiles wanted to howl with laughter as Derek used his cell phone to turn the volume louder up until the magical karma sutra line, at which point he turned it off to deafening silence.

“Okay, he’s playing his own music again, so I think we have one more shot before he comes after us,” whispered Derek, biting his lip and looking so mischievous Stiles could die.

“How has he not heard us yet?” said Stiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Maybe he’s pretending not to because of Myra?”

“Yes. Good point. What are you going to play next?”

Derek just jerked his head at Stiles. “Up to you.”

Stiles grinned slowly.

They’d only played about 10 seconds of Salt-N-Pepa when Brett stormed out of the Jeep, slamming the door behind him and stomping their way.

“Go, go, go, he’s almost here—” said Stiles, bravely saving Derek’s milkshake as Derek backed the Camaro up and tore out of there.

Stiles turned around completely in his seat to watch Brett start running, then stop, remembering that a normal human wouldn’t be able to catch up to a car speeding away at 35 mph. Stiles flipped him off with both hands and crowed.

“That’s for drinking my soda, bitch!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting the car inside the lobby for a prank was something that happened both at my childhood church and my university. Is this a universal thing? Or just where I lived?  
> I also had a friend who had a Jeep that she loved with ALLLL her heart (also named and famous) and when some of our guy friends moved it to a different parking lot (I think they carried it or something?) she almost put out an amber alert. I think Stiles would have a similar reaction, so this is for you, girl.  
> Part 2 of the date coming soon!


	19. The date, part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday night, June 13  
> #gratuitous food mention  
> #gratuitous music mention  
> #gratuitous pop culture references

**Bratt > and here I thought you installed the new sound system for me :( :( :( :(**

**Stiles > it was for you, but Derek installed it**

**Stiles > you wish your girlfriend gave you a sound system on your first date**

**Bratt > fuck you **

Stiles and Derek were sitting on a bench in Creekside Park, laughing at Brett’s outrage and enjoying the slightly cooler atmosphere that came with the coming evening. 

“I mean, since you said the modifications were reversible _should I want them to be_ , I assume you were going to let me keep the shiny new bluetooth sound system,” said Stiles, blushing that he’d made that assumption in the first place.

“No, Stiles, I went through the trouble of installing it and getting your hopes up just to uninstall it and take it back to the store,” said Derek, tilting his head back and sunning himself, eyes closed. Might be a Hale trait. A whole family of sun-worshippers.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be mad,” grumbled Stiles, finishing off his milkshake and tossing it neatly into a nearby garbage can. “So what gave you this idea, anyway?”

“Well, when you stayed over last weekend, you were talking about how we don’t have a lot of the shared memories that other couples do. I thought this could be a good one. I don’t want to step on your war with Brett, though—”

“It was perfect,” said Stiles, leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek. “Ten out of ten.”

“I have more planned,” said Derek, looking both embarrassed and pleased. “Think you could eat again?”

Stiles scoffed. “After that snack? Yeah, I think I’ll be good.”

Derek got up and put his hand out. Stiles took it and followed him happily back to the car.

They drove to a bar that Stiles had grown up seeing but never entered, in the old part of town where the buildings were brick and parking was nearly impossible to find. Fortunately, it was a weeknight, so they found a spot just a block away and walked in holding hands.

There was that moment, a little hiccup of time, where they walked into the bar and Stiles wondered if anyone was going to mutter at them for clearly being together, but all they got were friendly smiles and a cheery waitress leading them to a booth. 

Derek had Stiles order first, steak nachos and hot wings, and then went ahead and ordered mozzarella sticks, chicken alfredo, kobe sliders, potato skins, a chicken spinach artichoke dip pizza, and stuffed jalapeño peppers.

Stiles’ eyebrows got higher and higher the more Derek ordered, until he wasn’t sure they were still on his face. “If you eat all this, I will be impressed. And I know what your appetite can be like.”

Derek smiled. “Maybe it’s wasteful, but I wanted to try a few things. So we could see if this could become, you know, our place. And they didn’t have a platter, so, you know.”

Stiles slid closer to Derek so they were snuggled together in the booth, and tangled his feet with Derek’s. “That’s a great idea. I think this could be a contender.” The bar was still pretty quiet, but they were playing good music, a mix of old and new, everything with a danceable beat. The walls had been stripped down to their original brick, the bar itself was a heavy slab of reclaimed wood shellacked to a shiny glow, and the lights were simple brass fixtures. There was even a floor for dancing toward the back, hard wood with flashing colored lights hanging overhead. It was trying to be trendy but not quite succeeding, and Stiles loved it.

The waitress brought out their beers, and they started talking. About Derek’s work, about his soccer team, about Stiles and the defensive spells he’d been learning earlier that day. Before they knew it, the waitress and two more kitchen staff came out in a parade, bringing out their food and strategically placing everything so it would fit on the table. Stiles insisted that the waitress take their picture, and they dove in, trying a little of everything.

It shouldn’t still have been a surprise to Stiles, but Derek seemed to positively yearn to touch him now. Their fingers tangled and untangled easily, and any time one of them moved away, they edged a little closer on their way back until Stiles was one move away from sitting in his lap.

“I think you’ve done it,” announced Stiles, going in for seconds on the pizza. “This might be the place. I mean, we should still hunt around, but nobody in my pack knows it yet, which means we don’t have to share.”

“We’ll find one in Beacon Hills, too, closer to our house,” said Derek, relaxed and leaning comfortably against Stiles.

“So what else do we need?” asked Stiles, licking sauce from the side of his mouth and enjoying how it demanded Derek’s focus. 

“Maybe a song?”

“Hmm.” Stiles nodded thoughtfully and listened to what was currently playing. Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood. “Maybe not this one.”

Derek shot him an affronted glare, which delighted Stiles to no end. Derek’s sarcasm would never fail to make his day.

They finished all they could eat and divided their leftovers into the two to-go containers the waitress brought them and bought a second round of beer, happy and hazy and comfortable. Stiles got so buzzed, in fact, that he threw his arms up like a white girl and screamed _“I love this song!”_ when he heard the opening notes to Dancing in the Moonlight.

“Okay, we’re doing this,” said Stiles, scooting out and holding his hand out for Derek.

“We’re dancing to Dancing in the Moonlight?” Derek was looking judgmental, but Stiles had a feeling that was just his face at the moment. It was a bluff, and he was going to call him on it.

“I mean, nobody’s pulling your arm, but otherwise you’re going to sit here alone and— _We get it on most every night_ ,” Stiles sang along with the lyrics, shuffling slowly towards the dance floor.

Derek stared him down and tried to hide the smile playing about his mouth, and Stiles started shimmying, still singing.

“ _When that moon is big and bright  
It’s a supernatural delight_ , oh my gosh you _have_ to come dance now,” he finished, pointing at the ceiling. “It’s the rules. I didn’t write the song.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but he laughed and grudgingly slid out of the booth and took Stiles’ hand.

Once Derek started dancing, though, there was nothing grudging about it. He took Stiles’ hands in his and spun them both in turn, matching Stiles’ ridiculous dance moves with some ridiculous ones of his own. He was free and playful in a way Stiles had only seen the potential for before, and Stiles threw his head back and laughed in delight, feeling ready to burst.

Derek pulled him close, and Stiles settled his arms around his shoulders so they were nose to nose, a laugh caught in his throat. This time, when Derek looked down and leaned closer, he didn’t hesitate.

They met each other with open mouths, starting slow until they got the feel of each other, lips catching and releasing, growing in confidence. Derek’s hands traveled down to Stiles’ hips, pulling him closer until there was no more space between them, and he ran his tongue along the top of Stiles’ mouth, making Stiles shudder.

Derek finally broke the kiss and let his head fall in the curve of Stiles’ neck, swaying back and forth slightly. He chuckled, letting a huff of hot air out against his skin. 

“What?” said Stiles, turning his head so he was speaking into Derek’s hair.

“I had this whole plan,” said Derek. “For our first kiss.”

“You did?” Stiles swayed with him, with Dancing in the Moonlight playing its last chorus in the background. “I don’t know how you could beat this.”

Derek just snickered and melted against him, and Stiles couldn’t believe he was allowed to see this, to see Derek so relaxed that for once, Stiles was the one keeping him on his feet. 

“Well, now I’m too curious,” said Stiles, poking Derek in the side. “What was your master plan?”

“You want to see it?” Derek looked up to see his face. As if the answer to that wasn’t obvious.

“Of course I do!” 

“Alright.” Derek smacked a kiss on his cheek and untangled himself. “Give me five minutes and go out to the alley. I’ll go pay and meet you out there.”

“Just wait here?”

“Go to the bathroom, I don’t know.”

“Mmm, romantic,” simpered Stiles, going to his place of banishment. 

Once in the men’s restroom, he took a piss, washed his hands, ate a mint, checked his messages. He still had three minutes to wait. 

He puffed his cheeks out in the mirror, but this time, his reflection looked like a stranger. He hadn’t seen himself look this happy since… Well, never mind when. 

Two minutes.

Another man came in, so Stiles moved to the opposite end of the bathroom to give him some privacy.

“How’s it going?” the man tossed over his shoulder as he was peeing.

“Oh, yeah. Good. Really good. Uh, you?”

“Good.”

Stiles was dying. He was literally dying.

He checked his phone again. Thirty seconds. Close enough.

“Bye!” he said, speeding out of there like he was an emergency responder.

He waved to their waitress on his way out, and she pointed towards the left, so he turned left and wandered into the alley on that side.

Here’s the thing.

Alleys are gross.

Alleys are free toilets, especially the ones next to bars, and they’re the place where garbage breeds. 

So when he got to the alley and Derek wasn’t there, he wasn’t inclined to wait around and take in the scenery.

He turned around to try the alley on the other side when he heard Derek say, “Wait! Just—” Then there was the sound of a line whizzing through a cable, and he turned around just in time to see someone clad in red and blue come to a hard stop just overhead. “Fuck,” said Derek, his voice sounding pained. His body spun slowly in the air, and Derek clutched the harness around his waist, trying to get his breath back.

“Are you okay?” Stiles rushed to him, turning him by the shoulders so they were face to face.

“Uh, yeah. Already healed. Mostly.” Still hurting, though, given the hoarseness in Derek’s voice. The spiderman mask over his face was cheap spandex, the kind you’d expect from a cheap rental, and Stiles would swear on a Bible that he could see Derek’s bushy eyebrows wrinkle underneath it all.

Reassured that he was fine, Stiles gave into a full-body laugh. “You’ve got a knack for getting in trouble,” said Stiles, quoting the movie.

“Shut up. That’s my line.”

“What, so I’m Mary Jane?” He thought about it. “Well, fine, I can be Mary Jane. Sorry I’m not drenched like I’m in a wet t-shirt contest.”

“That is a shame,” said Derek, his voice warm in a way that made Stiles swallow and shift on his feet.

He tapped his fingers along Derek’s arms and tilted his head. “What am I supposed to say now? I think I have a superhero stalker?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” answered Derek, without hesitation.

Stiles grinned. “Do we have to do the whole dialogue?” 

“Fuck no,” said Derek fervently. “Please just kiss me so I can get out of this.”

Stiles flailed a little in his excitement and pulled the mask down Derek’s face, accidentally snapping him in the nose. “Sorry! Sorry. I’ll just—okay, so your bunny teeth are even cuter upside down, how is that possible?”

“ _Stiles_ ,” groaned Derek in exasperation. 

“Right! Yes. Getting to the kissing.” Stiles leaned in, then broke away snickering. “I’m sorry, I just need a moment. This is the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me, but—”

“Stiles.”

“What.”

“ _Please_.”

Calming himself with a mighty effort, Stiles fitted his lips to Derek’s, sucking his upper lip between his teeth. It was a little weird—he’d never gotten stubble burn on his nose before—but the mechanics weren’t too impossible. He curled his tongue into Derek’s mouth, tasting the beer they’d been drinking, then swiped across his teeth for good measure. “Is that good enough?”

“Yeah,” said Derek, swallowing like he could barely speak. “Okay, just a moment.” He swung himself up so he could hold onto the line with one hand while unfastening the harness with the other.

“Mm!” hollered Stiles, starting a slow clap. “Hot damn! Look at those muscles.”

Derek, the top of his face still hidden by the mask, looked at the sky like he was praying for strength. 

“Yes! That’s my man!” Stiles kept it up as Derek practically scurried up the rope to the top, as if dismantling the setup quickly enough would shut him up. He had strung a cable between two buildings, which along with the bluetooth stereo system, made Stiles wonder how much time Derek had put into this date. “Dang, son, do you work out?” Stiles called out, cupping his hands around his mouth. As if Derek couldn’t have heard him if he whispered anyway.

“Stiles,” said Derek, unhooking the cable on one side and jumping to the other to gather it up.

“Yes, my dove?”

“Shut up.”

Stiles tapped a finger against his chin in faux confusion. “I don’t think that was in the movie.”

Derek sighed loud enough that Stiles could hear him from two stories down and coiled the cables safely around one shoulder. And then, because he was an unfailing show-off, he dropped to a fire-escape ten feet up, then somersaulted down, landing in the superhero pose.

“ _Derek, your knees_ ,” Stiles hissed, rushing to his aid. 

Derek, of course, was fine. “I did that all the time as a kid,” he said, whipping his mask off completely. “I don’t even feel it anymore.”

“You,” Stiles said completely sincerely, “are the hottest man I have ever seen in my life.”

“Hotter than Tobey Maguire?” 

“Infinitely hotter,” said Stiles, kissing him again, because that was something he could do now. 

“That’s all I ever wanted to hear,” said Derek, kissing him back for a long moment before standing straight and grabbing his hand. “Come on. This alley smells like a sewer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been killing my rom-com-loving ass not to write any kissing so far, so this chapter is brought to you by these [modern](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QGmIkreNmQ4/) [ Toto](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhtoDhlffsE) [ vibes ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX2SXnQI5cc)
> 
> Also, obviously, [dancing in the moonlight by Toploader.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0yBnIUX0QAE)


	20. Get in loser we're going shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday, June 16 and the Saturday after  
> One week until the wedding, guys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta, and today I'm too lazy to subject it to the normal level of scrutiny, so if you find any problems or typos please help a brother out!

The next morning, Stiles woke up in his bedroom at the pack house and repressed the urge to immerse himself in his phone. He was getting married in one week.

He slowly sat up and crossed his legs, looking around his tiny bedroom, remembering the day they gave him a place in the house. 

Stiles had been staying up late with Hideyo his senior year, trying to simultaneously protect his new pack from a trio of ghosts and prove himself as useful. Even if Satomi had officially accepted him as Hideyo’s apprentice, he still felt like he needed to win her approval. (He was still naive enough to think it was possible for Satomi to approve of anyone she knew less than five years.) He fell asleep at the table, and only woke up the next day, in a room just big enough for a twin bed, some hooks on the wall, and a small desk. It was almost monastic. 

It was at that moment that Stiles realized he was no longer an outsider. He had a place. A second home.

He told his dad about the pack, and werewolves, and his spark, shortly after that. 

Since then, there were a few more things in the room. Blinds, for one, since the sun had a way of poking Stiles in the eye without them. A couple of posters from concerts he’d gone to with pack members. A stack of notebooks, a cup of chewed pencils, and a cork board where he tacked up five years worth of postcards, birthday cards, and polaroid pictures. A small bouquet of herbs Hideyo had made him, to help him with nightmares. A pair of slippers, mandatory at all times.

He took a shower, dressed himself in fresh clothes, and picked up breakfast from the kitchen downstairs. He usually helped himself to the rice cooker and vegetables from the fridge, but he wasn’t going to wait around for someone else to pinch his leftover jalapeño poppers and potato skins, so he microwaved those and went to Hideyo’s study.

Sure enough, Hideyo was up and probably had been for hours, comfortably dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and long cotton pants. He was currently distilling resin over a hot plate to make dragon’s blood. “Still here?” he called, beckoning Stiles in to sit beside him.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, munching a potato skin and sitting comfortably. “I move into the new house on Saturday, so I figured I should stay here one more night before that.”

“You and Derek are both welcome to stay anytime,” said Hideyo, giving the resin another stir and leaning back with a sigh. “That will always be your room.”

Stiles would have said something about the tiny bed, but he’d already figured out that he and Derek tended to sleep just fine in shoeboxes. (Maybe he even liked it, but he wasn’t going to tell that to the world.) “I know, I just—things are going to be different now. I’ll be living in Beacon Hills. Do you know how much I used to talk shit about Beacon Hills?”

“Oh, I remember,” Hideyo said, mild as ever. “At the time, it was the town that had bitten your best friend and stolen him.”

“And their lacrosse team sucks.” Not performance-wise. They were just a bag of douches. Even when Scott became co-captain, there were some miracles even Scott couldn’t perform.

“You were further away during university,” Hideyo reminded him, to get him back on track.

“Yeah, but that was temporary. We always knew I’d come back eventually. This is… forever.” 

“It will be inconvenient at times, especially when you become the emissary,” said Hideyo, which was exactly the sort of talk Stiles hated. Hideyo was barely seventy. Stiles was counting on at least thirty more years before they had to say goodbye. “But it’s an elegant solution to many of our problems. That will be no less true a decade from now, when we are at peace and the nogitsune is still safely put away.”

Stiles twisted his chair back and forth and worried at his lower lip.

“You are pack, Stiles,” said Hideyo, not for the first time. “You don’t have to be a werewolf, or Japanese, or Buddhist, or live in Beacon Heights for that to be true. You are family to us all.” 

Stiles knew all this. In his brain. But it was nice to hear it again, all the same.

Hideyo watched him until he seemed satisfied that Stiles had listened. “Now. Tell me what magic tricks you’ve done to impress Derek.”

Stiles, sensing a trap, preened a little. “Nothing.” At Hideyo’s look, he grinned. “I promise! I know magic isn’t something to take lightly.”

“Since when does that mean you can’t do it for fun?” 

Oh. Hideyo looked… pissed?

“I thought it would be, I don’t know, disrespectful?”

“When did I ever tell you that? First of all, play is the best way of learning. If you haven’t been playing with your magic, you’ll stunt your growth and your interest. Second, you need to show off your ability so Deaton will stop acting like he’s the holiest druid in the county.”

Stiles’ mouth was open as he processed this information. “I thought you liked Deaton?”

“Psh!” Hideyo waved his hands irritably. “I have to play nice with him. He’s a sanctimonious little upstart who thrives on drama. He’s French Canadian, you know.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Stiles asked slowly, feeling a little alarmed. He’d never heard Hideyo stereotype someone like that and couldn’t decide whether he should protest or let himself enjoy it. Stiles wasn’t Deaton’s biggest fan, either.

“You ask him a question someday, and then you tell me. What’s that line from Arrested Development? He gets up on withholding?”

“Gets off on being withholding?” Stiles grinned. See? This was why he loved Hideyo with all his heart.

“Yes. Exactly. The point is, you’re talented, and you’re smart. I’ve never met a magic-user who didn’t use their ability to show off at some point. It’s high time you did.”

“The last time I played around didn’t go so well, you might remember,” said Stiles, feeling defensive.

“Well, don’t get drunk, obviously. But you know plenty of elemental work to impress your fiancé.” Hideyo stirred the resin, took it off the hot plate to cool, and looked at Stiles, already in a better mood. “And I can give you a couple herbal recipes, too. Make viagra look like a quack remedy.”

“Ooooh, look at the time, I have so many things to do today,” said Stiles, getting up and scurrying out, nearly dropping his plate of cheesy appetizers. “I have to pack my, um, slippers.”

“You do that,” said Hideyo, waving him out and raising his voice. “Take it from a married man, Stiles. You know my phone number, when you change your mind.”

Nope. Nope nope nope. Stiles fled upstairs, swearing he’d never ask Hideyo for help with that.

Well…

Yeah, no thanks. Stiles didn’t make it this far to die of embarrassment.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Lydia drove in early Saturday morning, and Stiles met her at a tiny boutiquey place he would have never even looked at before, on account of the eighty dollar ties and hundred twenty dollar shoes. He spent all his time in the dressing room, and Lydia spent all her time texting pictures to Cora, who was apparently putting Derek through the same torture 30 miles away in Beacon Hills. 

At some point in the last few weeks, Cora and Lydia had appointed themselves the wedding planners behind their backs, and had waited until now to flex their muscles. It was, all around, a terrifying situation, and he and Derek had just let it happen through a lack of vigilance. 

Let the nightmare begin.

Okay, so maybe Stiles kind of loved the suit she agreed on—some kind of beige linen-weave thing that made him look tall and broad-shouldered, but he had a small heart-attack when he caught a glimpse of the price. 

Lydia just rolled her eyes and waved her credit card around meaningfully. “I wouldn’t have brought you here, Stiles, if I was going to make you pay for it.”

“It’s still too much,” he protested, even as he couldn’t stop himself from smoothing his hands over the jacket sleeves. It just felt cool, alright?

“Half of it is a wedding gift for you, and the other half is a gift to myself, because I already bought my dress, and I can’t have you wearing that plain black suit in the middle of the forest. It would ruin the whole wedding scheme.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested. “That was my dad’s suit!”

“And 20 years ago, it was the height of fashion,” said Lydia, patting him on the cheek and walking to the cashier. “Very Richard Gere,” she called over her shoulder.

“She says that like it’s a bad thing,” Stiles grumbled to the dressing room attendant, and viciously closed the curtain so he could get changed.

“Well, it’s not a good thing,” the attendant drawled, hooking the curtain securely closed. “Shoes off, please.”

Yep, he was in a nightmare.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Stiles and Lydia had lunch at what had become their usual place in Beacon Heights, a panini place that was cool enough to have all the kombucha and sprouts that Lydia needed to survive. She got the extended account of Stiles’ Best Date Ever with Derek Hale, and filled him in on her plan to bring Jackass Whittemore to the wedding as her date.

Stiles was properly horrified.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Lydia said, eyes wide and lips pouty. “He got much better since high school. Besides, when Jackson gets hired, he’ll be part of Laura’s company, so you’d better make friends with him.” All code for when Jackson gets the bite and becomes a werewolf, joining Laura’s pack. 

“I won’t. I shan’t,” said Stiles flatly. Jackson had made fun of Scott when he was a lonely new student at Beacon Hills, then followed him until he stumbled on the werewolf secret and had spent the six years since trying to convince Laura to give him the bite. Convince, coerce, blackmail, whatever. He hadn’t told anyone the secret, but he hadn’t become a ray of sunshine, either.

Scott wasn’t a fan. Derek was diplomatically silent. Laura was convinced he could be rehabilitated into a real boy. (Actually, the inside story, courtesy of Scott, was that Laura wouldn’t take him on until he learned to make nice with his parents, which hadn’t happened until the murders. Apparently it took the prospect of losing them for him to see the light. Douche.)

“Does that mean you might want to join the company too?” asked Stiles, smiling at Lydia as he took a sip from his iced tea. 

“That’s a question I don’t need to answer for a few years,” said Lydia, dimpling at him conspiratorially. “For the moment, I’m more concerned with how we can get our parents to make the next move without being too heavy handed.”

“What’s wrong with being heavy handed?” protested Stiles. “I want to parent-trap them, dammit.”

Lydia just shook her head and smiled at him. “Look at you. You get engaged, and suddenly everyone has to pair up.”

“Yes, I’m an expert now,” Stiles said airily, leaning back and crossing his legs, jolting the table as he did it. “I’m available for all your dating advice needs.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, looking affectionate. “You’re moving in today, right? When do I get to see your new house?”

“Only when we’re all moved in and it’s too late for you to criticize our paint colors.” 

“Oh, Stiles,” said Lydia, sipping her kombucha through perfectly applied lipstick, in the tone one would use to say _my sweet summer child_. “It will never be too late for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's [song recommendation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EjsxoPBT59U) is dedicated to ~~Jackass~~ Jackson and Lydia. It's from a korean drama, It's Okay It's Love, which has my favorite soundtrack for kdramas of all time. (I used to be HUGE into korean dramas but that was before my life was taken over by reading fanfiction. If only I had enough obsession to go around! Those were good days.)


	21. Moving in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturday, June 16  
> New house time!

Stiles didn’t have much in the way of furniture, but he did have an intensely curious dad, so he asked his father for help transporting his clothes and books, and the elder Stilinski was only too happy to accommodate. Laura and Jordan came with a moving truck, and Derek showed up with a car full of groceries and a stack of thin-crust veggie pizzas.

Stiles stood among the rainbow-colored windmills and gave the pizzas a betrayed look. His dad was _right there_. Derek just shrugged. “Pizza’s a tradition when you move. I figured he would order some if I didn’t first.”

Stiles thought about it, then conceded and pecked him on the cheek. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Good move.”

An obnoxious honking sound grabbed his attention, and Stiles looked down the street to see a familiar gray car coming their way. Melissa had been driving that car since Stiles and Scott were both in middle school.

Speaking of Scott, he was sitting in the passenger seat and leaning over to honk excitedly at the horn, Melissa vainly trying to hold him off. Scott didn’t even wait for her to slow down—he rolled down the window, jumped out, and sprinted their way.

“Dude! You have a real house! It’s like, _a house_ ,” Scott cried, gesturing seriously. “Do you guys have to get a lawn mower? That’s so crazy.” He grabbed Stiles and tossed him in the air a little bit. Because what was Stiles around for, if not to be used as a human football?

Laura just rolled her eyes as she helped Jordan carry in a bigger dining table. She was used to their antics by now, as was everybody else present.

It took less than fifteen minutes to move all the boxes into the living room, so twenty minutes later, they were crammed around the table, putting a dent in the pizzas. Stiles looked around and had to stop himself from grinning like a goon. Both families were together for the first time, bantering and teasing each other already.

Stiles had invited Satomi, but despite paying half the rent, she was no micro-manager. As long as Stiles was satisfied, and the Hales were satisfied, she didn’t need to see it for herself.

Stiles was a little relieved, honestly. He would always be on his best behavior around Satomi. She was, like, the president. Laura was an alpha, too, but today she was just Derek’s big sister, a treasure trove of embarrassing stories and blackmail.

They talked about the wedding, obviously, along with Scott’s plans to bring Kira Yukimura (“I can’t believe you’re all bringing wedding dates to a wedding at _dawn_ ,” Stiles complained, but Laura just shushed him and asked for more details) and, under duress, the sheriff admitted he was bringing Natalie Martin. As if they wouldn’t have seen them together the day of, for pity’s sake.

“All I’m saying,” said Stiles, “is our wedding is the ultimate test of a relationship. If there’s a crop of new engagements this summer, you know where to send your thank you cards.”

“Or babies,” supplied Derek.

“Or babies!” Stiles felt his eyes go wide. “Dude. Scott. Please have a baby. I need you to have a baby.” 

“I just started dating Kira a month ago,” Scott laughed, kicking Stiles in the ankle.

Stiles dodged it easily, after years of practice. “Time is a construct. Derek and I started dating a few weeks ago, and we’re, like couple of the year.”

“This is as good a time as any,” said Laura, looking significantly at Jordan.

Jordan lifted his eyebrows and shrugged, looking tentatively excited. “Sure. Uh, okay, it’s not an _announcement_ announcement, but we’ve decided that once the alliance and binding ceremony go through,” and here he nodded at Stiles and Derek, “we’re going to try having a baby.”

“Is this something people just share nowadays?” Stiles heard Melissa whisper to Scott, but Derek stood up and rushed to Laura, scooping her up in a firm hug.

“Okay, Der Bear, I get it,” said Laura, hugging him back, then hitting him on the shoulder when she got impatient. 

After a long moment, Derek put her back down and sat next to Stiles again, deep red and wiping his eyes. Stiles grabbed his hand, and Derek met his gaze and gave a wobbly smile. Stiles would ask later.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Later came past midnight, after everyone had left and Derek and Stiles lay in their bed for the first time, holding hands and staring at each other in the faint light spilling through the window. 

“Laura once told me she would never have kids,” Derek confided, his voice musical in the stillness of their house. “We’d been in New York for about a year, and we were sitting in a restaurant, and there was this cute family, and she just said it. And maybe she doesn’t look like it or act like it, but Laura always really wanted to be a mom. To be like our mom. But after losing everybody, she said she couldn’t imagine bringing a kid into the world when it was so unsafe.”

Derek pulled Stiles’ hand closer, and he stared down at it, face crumpled with long-carried grief. “That was a really hard time, because it hit me, you know? That even though I knew we were both hurting, and we’d both lost something, I realized that my actions hadn’t only taken her family, but her future family too.”

Stiles made an unhappy noise, and Derek conceded with a flicker of his eyebrows. “Right, not my fault. I know that now. But I definitely believed it then. And now, knowing that we’re part of the reason they’re going to try…” Derek swallowed, and his eyes started watering again.

Stiles felt his heart breaking, and wondered how he never knew his heart could break over something so exquisitely hopeful. “No pressure, right?” he said, and Derek devolved into a fit of giggles, rolling closer to Stiles.

“No pressure, bright eyes,” he said, stroking Stiles’ cheek with that soft look on his face.

“Did you just give me a nickname?” asked Stiles, sitting up in quiet delight.

“Do you like it?”

“You could call me anything but my real name and I would probably like it.”

Derek huffed in laughter and tackled Stiles back down to the bed, smiling down at him. “I’m going to have to see your name when we go to City Hall for the marriage license.”

Stiles went stiff in horror. “No.”

Derek shrugged, faking apologetic. “I don’t think you can avoid it,” he said, planting a closed-mouth kiss on his lips and rolling back so he was beside Stiles once again.

Stiles stared at the ceiling and racked his brains, but there was nothing to be done. Oh, well. The idea didn’t horrify him as much as he thought it would, Derek knowing his real name. Derek knowing more of his secrets. 

“Hey, Der Bear,” he whispered, shamelessly stealing Laura’s nickname for him. “Wanna see a magic trick?”

When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles turned his head to see him fast asleep, mouth slack, eyelashes making shadows across his cheek. Stiles just turned on his side so it would be the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Stiles was up bright and early the next day, practically kicked himself out of bed with a burst of energy and excitement. Time to play house.

He left Derek sleeping and started setting runes around the garden before the neighbors could wake up. He didn’t want them to get the right idea about him. 

Less than an hour later, the paper had come, and Stiles had smoothed over his work so it would be undetectable unless you were looking for it specifically. He headed inside and opened the pack of Costco muffins that Derek had brought, then started unpacking his computer and paraphernalia in the spare bedroom that would become his office.

“Why are you awake?” he heard, and turned around to see Derek hovering in the doorway in his sleep pants. His hair was everywhere and his eyes were still puffy.

“Apparently I’m a morning person today.”

Derek just scoffed at that and started a pot of coffee in the kitchen, given the sound and smell of the percolator a minute later.

Less than ten minutes after that, he heard some swoony violins and guitar, and went out to see Derek sitting cross-legged on a new rug, surrounded with open boxes and backed by an old record cabinet, already spinning a mustard yellow record. 

“That’s a record player?” Stiles proclaimed. “I thought it was just a sideboard or something.”

“Came with the house,” said Derek, looking like a kid in a candy store. “I have one too, but I wanted to hear how this one sounded. It’s pretty good.”

“So these are all yours?” Stiles said, gesturing to the boxes. “It’s not enough that you drive a Camaro and cook like a chef, you also have a record collection of soul music.”

“Uh… yes?” Derek watched him like he was looking for a trap.

“How. The fuck,” said Stiles, stalking toward him, “are you so sexy?”

“You think I’m sexy?” said Derek, pretending to be shocked and flattered, because he was an asshole and he knew exactly how attractive he was.

“You’re so sexy, it offends me and my understanding of the world,” said Stiles, bending down and kissing him on the nose, careful not to budge the coffee in his hand. “Is this okay?”

“It’s more than okay,” said Derek, almost going cross-eyed as he looked directly into Stiles’ eyes. He put his coffee safely down and pulled Stiles down so he was straddling him on the floor. “Stiles, you’re probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever met.”

Stiles immediately tensed and started getting up again, because everything in his brain was screaming _bullshit_. 

“Hey,” said Derek, putting his coffee down and gentling Stiles with a hand running down his spine. “Do you think I’m lying?”

Stiles ducked his head and pursed his lips. “I don’t know what I should say.”

“Then just listen,” said Derek, running his nose up Stiles’ jaw and settling his mouth next to his ear. “The first thing I was attracted to,” he said, his voice purring softly and making Stiles’ scalp prickle, “was the way you move. How you’re able to communicate what you think with every ounce of your body. At first it made me jealous, after so long shutting myself off, but when I realized that, I couldn’t stop watching you. Wishing I could do the same.”

The record player hissed as it went to the next song, something with a driving beat and meandering bass line that made Stiles’ pulse skip a little faster. Derek’s fingers inched down until they were cradling his hips, and Derek started breathing a little faster, maybe picking up Stiles’ excitement.

“And then the first summer you came back from college,” Derek went on, looking at Stiles’ face dead on once more, “I couldn’t stop looking at you. At your mouth, and those beautiful amber eyes. The hair on your forearms.” Derek flushed at that, and ducked his head. “It was kind of a shock, after all that time thinking of you as my kid brother’s annoying best friend.”

Stiles shifted, acutely aware of how his growing erection was probably less than an inch from Derek’s. He considered moving away, but Derek’s hands stayed on his hips, his fingers curling in slightly. 

“And now…” said Derek, looking at Stiles’ lips, “you’re a man I would have a hard time not watching, even if I didn’t know you. The way you smell, the sound of your voice, it’s like you’ve figured out my type and...” Derek cut off and face-planted into Stiles’ chest with a thump.

“What?”

“Deaton’s here,” Derek growled.

“Huh?”

“I hear his car.”

Stiles scrambled up and ran to the bedroom. “We need to have a talk with your pack about appropriate visiting hours,” he said, whipping off all his clothes and jumping into the cold shower in less than ten seconds. “And to call ahead, because I feel like they’re cockblocking us on purpose now,” he continued, getting a mouth of freezing water for his trouble.

It took no time at all to start shivering, so he got out and realized his next problem. “Derek! Where are the towels?”

The music shut off in the living room. “Uh… use the hand towel?”

Stiles groaned, but there was no time. He ran the hand towel over his body and darted, shivering, into the bedroom to look for fresh clothes. He crouched over one of his duffle bags, rooting out some underwear, then turned around and yelped.

Derek was there, staring at his naked body with open mouth and wide eyes. “Sorry!” Derek cried, averting his gaze.

“Looks like you need a cold shower, too,” said Stiles, smirking at him as he hopped on one leg, putting on his boxers.

Derek groaned, but he rushed into the bathroom regardless, flipping Stiles off as he went. “Deaton just parked. You’ll have to let him in.”

Stiles put on his shorts from yesterday and a fresh t-shirt, then rushed out to the sound of Deaton knocking. “Heyyyy, Dr. Deaton!” he said, a little out of breath. “What brings you here on this fine Sunday morning?” At nine thirty, he barely stopped himself from adding.

Deaton came in, surreptitiously checking out the interior. “Laura asked me to come put up some wards, but it seems Hideyo already did that.”

“Oh, no, that was me,” said Stiles. “Um, if there’s anything I left out…?”

“No, I think it’s more than sufficient,” said Deaton. He didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to leave.

“Well, do you want some coffee?” asked Stiles, just to be polite. He didn’t like Deaton, but they’d be seeing each other plenty in the future. “That way you won’t have wasted a trip.”

Deaton just nodded and followed him to the kitchen. He sat down at the table. He didn’t say anything.

Stiles already regretted letting him in.

“So, uh, your sister is really cool,” he attempted, throwing away the used coffee filter and filling up a new one, putting in enough for a full pot. Even if Deaton didn’t drink much, he and Derek sucked down enough of the stuff that it would be worth it. “Hideyo said you guys were French Canadian, which is pretty… cool.” The cold shower had definitely scrambled his brain. Distantly, he heard the shower in the master bedroom shut off. Finally. Reinforcements.

Deaton was looking in the corners, as though looking for spiderwebs. “I suppose, if being from another country is considered to be an accomplishment.”

The coffee pot sputtered to life, and Stiles searched for something to say to that. “Well, sometimes. What with the immigration process being as hard as it is.”

“It’s not too hard, when you’re from Canada and have a doctorate degree.”

“Oh, really,” said Stiles inanely. 

Derek came in, still shower-damp and wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and he greeted Deaton.

“Deaton came by to help with warding the house,” said Stiles, his eyes screaming _help me_ when Deaton wasn’t looking. Derek just smirked at him. It seemed he was well aware of Deaton’s unhelpful personality. “But I already did it, so…” 

“Thank you for coming out,” said Derek.

Deaton nodded. “You’re welcome.”

Stiles glared at Derek, but the man lifted his eyebrows innocently and didn’t say anything more. Fine. Stiles could talk. Stiles was the best at talking. “You must be excited to get the nemeton taken care of, right? Get that nasty tree under control,” he attempted.

“Indeed,” said Deaton, coolly watching Derek get out coffee creamer. “Although the nemeton is neither good nor evil of itself. It’s an amplifier. The binding ceremony will feed positive things into it, things like trust, growth and hope for the future.”

“That sounds great,” said Stiles, smiling a little at Derek. Derek relaxed and his eyes smiled back at him. 

“It’s all a matter of overriding the bad things that were fed into it. Blood sacrifice filled the nemeton with ill intent and grief, so it has been fueling creatures who thrive on it.”

“That’s an interesting way of explaining it,” said Stiles, pouring Deaton a cup of coffee and sitting down. Finally, a conversation that didn’t make him want to pull his hair out. “That’s why we’re making sacrifices of things that are good for the forest at the ceremony, right? Bird seed and stuff.” Derek walked past them into the laundry room, putting his cup on the table as he went, so Stiles poured him some fresh coffee while he waited.

“And stuff,” said Deaton, dryly. “The binding ceremony should imbue the county with positivity and healthy energy. I foresee our lives being much easier, after Thursday.” He sipped at his coffee a bit more. “It seems Derek has gone outside. I think I may have made him uncomfortable, talking about the darach.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back in no time,” said Stiles. He could understand Derek being uncomfortable, but they’d barely mentioned it, right?

Deaton stood up. “No, stay seated,” he said when Stiles got up to walk him out. “I’ll see you again on Thursday.” 

Stiles sat back down and looked around the kitchen in confusion. What the heck just happened?

The front door opened and closed, and the steam floated away from Derek’s coffee, catching the sunlight. 

And Stiles was alone in the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Derek is listening to the [new album by Leon Bridges](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uYEGPTFwJDo&list=PL9tY0BWXOZFtJ26vF9Qq1smh24JzU5tL0), which has been the background music for this fic ever since the beginning. Actually, it’s where I got the title! “Might just be my everything” comes from the fourth track, [Beyond](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qVe7CL9uAg&index=4&list=PL9tY0BWXOZFtJ26vF9Qq1smh24JzU5tL0). Also, the second track is my current favorite, and I was going to name an earlier chapter after it but forgot.  
> Derek is totally a music snob and he doesn’t listen to anyone that he didn’t hear first on either NPR’s Tiny Desk Concert or KEXP. So he doesn’t know Charlie Puth, but he has strong opinions on Superorganism. (Not his thing, but he could write a dissertation on their musical influences.)


	22. Sometimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday-Tuesday morning, June 17-19  
> My friend tagged me just now on a quote that I think is perfect for this story.  
> "A first date question: How aware are you of your traumas and suppressed emotions and how are you actively working to heal them before you try to project that shit on me?" (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.) Like daaaaaamn. Stiles and Derek are at least aware and working on it, but still make mistakes. My babies.

Stiles was unnerved by Deaton, but he didn’t blame Derek for walking out. In retrospect, Stiles wouldn’t have wanted to blithely discuss the effects of his ex-girlfriend’s human sacrifices, either. It was, if nothing else, tone-deaf.

In apology, he made lunch for two, and was doing a pretty good job believing that Derek would join him until a horsefly came and insisted on landing on Derek’s sandwich, no matter how many times Stiles waved it off. He wrapped Derek’s food up and put it safely in the fridge, and turned around to a tapping noise.

The fly was hurling itself at the door, shaking the old glass windowpanes, shaking itself off more quickly than should be possible before making another attempt.

Stiles quelled the sick feeling in his stomach and opened the door to let it out.

As soon as he closed the door, it was back, flinging itself at the window, even harder now. It sounded, not coincidentally, like someone knocking. 

_Knock knock Stiles_

Fuck the nogitsune. Now it was going to ruin the Matrix for him.

Feeling the edges of panic, but keeping his head, Stiles threw up his hands and scraped them through the air, drawing a rune so it shimmered like smoky ash and blowing it at the fly. It wasn’t one he’d been expecting to use on his back door, as it served a very specific purpose: preventing others from hurting themselves. Any living thing that ran into it would lose any self-destructive impulses.

The fly hit the rune, hovered, and flew off. It would take a while for the nogitsune to find some other animal to inhabit, at least.

Stiles let out a hard exhale. Hopefully Derek would come back soon. Otherwise, he was in for a long afternoon.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Derek didn’t come back. His phone sat uselessly on the living room floor, his car stayed parked in the driveway, and Stiles’ magic inquiry as to Derek’s safety gave him no answers.

Derek was in no danger.

He was just… not around.

And Stiles couldn’t bring himself to call any of Derek’s family. It wasn’t any kind of stretch to imagine their annoyance at being made to play messenger. There were exactly four other people who knew about his battle with the nogitsune: Satomi, Hideyo, Lydia, and now, Derek. Nobody else would understand why Stiles was overreacting to what was probably an innocent mistake.

But that didn’t matter, because Derek would be back soon. Stiles would be fine until then.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The day passed, then another, and Stiles had been busy for 39 hours, now.

The day before, he stayed up wringing his hands like an old man until after midnight, when he accepted that Derek was gone for the night, and he wasn’t going to get any sleep anyways. 

So he unpacked his books. And he snooped through Derek’s record collection. And he read every text message they’d exchanged, the freaking long Facebook message where Derek first opened up, every journal entry where he was _really thinking this was going to work. It wasn’t going to be easy, but it was going to work._

He hoped past Stiles was right, because that night, he was barely hanging on to hope.

Dawn came, and yoga seemed like a cheerful thing to do, so he spent about three hours fucking around on Youtube, half-assing yoga tutorials and then switching to food-porny recipe videos from Tasty, then running to the grocery store because he had to try these blueberry lemon ricotta pancakes, like, yesterday. 

He thought again about calling Lydia, Scott, Hideyo, anybody, but the very idea of having to hear somebody who loved him take his side and lambast Derek made the panic swell and the darkness grow. He couldn’t hold onto faith in their relationship in the face of his loved ones’ inevitable criticism.

Stiles knew that repressing wasn’t a good strategy in general, but when allowing himself to feel the full depth of his self-doubt and worry and burgeoning despair would open the door to the nogitsune, after all this time, when he was only days away from safety…

He had to just shove it down. Deal with it later, trust that Derek was coming back. He’d be back by Thursday morning, at least, for the wedding.

Fuck.

He didn’t think he could stay in their house alone another night, so he drove to his dad’s, making him dinner and eating together, watching a Mets game, deflecting his questions. When his dad went to bed, they hugged for an unacceptably long moment, his dad patting his back, a little embarrassed, grumbling out encouragement.

Now, at 4 a.m. on Tuesday, he was sitting in his old bedroom, AC blasting, blanket-burritoed, drinking cup after cup of chamomile tea, deep in the 1979 season of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, when he heard a knock at the window.

He jumped, clutching his mug to his chest, heart instantly pounding.

He clenched his eyes shut and swallowed. It wasn’t real.

_The sun the moon the truth the sun the moon the truth the sun_

_Stiles Stiles Stiles do you know any riddles Stiles_

“Stiles?” said a familiar voice, slightly muffled through the window. “Are you alright?”

He opened his eyes, not daring to hope. “Derek?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I should have texted or something, but I didn’t want to wake you up if you were sleeping, and then—sorry, can I maybe come inside?”

Stiles hesitated for all of two seconds before he put his tea down and flung himself out of bed, tripping a bit on his comforter to get to the window.

“What are you doing here? It’s like four in the morning,” hissed Stiles as he flipped open the latch and slid the window to the side. 

“I know, I’m so sorry, I was just going to check on you but then I saw you were awake,” said Derek, ducking through and landing silently on the floor. “I would have knocked at the front door, but your dad—you look like shit,” he said, jolting to his full height in surprise.

“Yeah, well, that happens when you don’t sleep for two days straight,” said Stiles, letting some of his bitterness bleed through. 

Derek looked down and took a deep breath. “Shit,” he said fervently.

“What happened, dude? One minute you were fine, and then you were just gone. I have no idea where you went, what you were thinking, what it meant…”

“I know,” said Derek, looking lost and repentant. “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, you’re sorry? Sorry for what, exactly? Because I am terrified, Derek,” said Stiles, his eyes pricking, fists clenching the hem of his shirt. “I haven’t been this scared in months. I don’t have my defenses up anymore. You realize that? I’m fucking exhausted, I’m nauseous, and now I suck at forcing myself to be fine because I started _counting on you_. I literally can’t fix myself right now. And maybe that’s not fair, maybe that’s not healthy, but—”

“No, that’s just the place you’re at right now, Stiles. We have to get you through Thursday. That’s the most important thing.”

“So _where were you?_ ”

Derek waited, five, six breaths, before he looked down. “I thought I was making you worse.”

“What kind of bullshit—” Stiles brought one hand up to muss up his hair in frustration. “What do you mean? Why would you think that?”

“Because that’s what I do, Stiles,” said Derek, whispering his darkest secret, the thing he knew he wasn’t allowed to think, but thought anyway. “ _I fuck things up_. Everything that you’re going through is my fault, and I was so sure I was going to, I don’t know, I… don’t know.”

“Why in hell would you think that? We’re good together, Derek. You know it, I know it, I’m pretty sure your entire soccer team knows it. We make each other better.”

Derek looked at the ceiling and swallowed, like he couldn’t bear to look at Stiles another second. “Don’t you get it? I’m the reason the nemeton was twisted in the first place. I provided the first sacrifice, with Paige. I dated Jennifer Blake, and she killed eight people right under my nose, and I didn’t have a clue because I was so fucking focused on my own so-called progress. I’m the reason the nogitsune got stronger, and got out.”

Stiles glared at him. “Derek, I’m going to say it again, and hopefully you listen this time. You have had shitty things happen to you. You didn’t deserve any of it, and I know you would do anything you could to keep other people safe. Don’t you believe for a second that we don’t need you. That I don’t need you,” he finished, softly now.

Derek was scowling, but Stiles got the hunch that he wasn’t scowling at anyone but himself.

“So if you believed all that, that stupidity, about yourself, what are you doing here?”

Derek put his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders guiltily. “Jordan talked to me. He, uh, he told me that when you l—when you’re in a relationship with somebody, you don’t have the luxury of worrying if you’re good enough. You just have to show up and do your best.”

Stiles let himself breeze right past what Derek might or might not have been about to say, and focused on the point. “And you took his advice, I take it?”

“I was going to come over tomorrow morning, but Lydia called me. She had a nightmare tonight, and you weren’t answering your phone.”

“My phone? But—oh, I think it might be in the Jeep still,” said Stiles. “It’s probably dead. I haven’t charged it in a while.”

“Oh.” Derek sighed deeply, looked down at his feet. Stiles had no clue what he was thinking.

“You realize that leaving was the exact right way to fuck me up, right?” said Stiles, stepping closer to Derek. 

Derek swallowed and stayed motionless, letting Stiles approach him like Stiles was a stray cat, easily spooked. “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t do that again,” said Stiles, pushing even closer, until their torsos were touching and their fingers were catching on each other. “If you need space, please just tell me something. When you’re coming back, what you need me to do… I don’t handle ghosting well.”

Derek put his head on Stiles’ shoulder with a soft thump. “Okay. I’ll be better.”

Stiles let himself hold Derek now, one hand coming up to caress his hair, soft from the lack of product. “Thank you for coming,” he said, throat clicking. It sounded trite, but what he meant was, _I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t come_.

“Can I stay?” asked Derek, his mouth moving against Stiles’ shoulder.

“Please.” Stiles’ throat kept swallowing, and then he was standing stock still, lips wobbling, fists shaking. “Derek,” he managed, his voice breaking on that single word. 

With a muffled whine, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles and held him close, and Stiles let himself go.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Stiles cried. Harder than the first time he told Derek about the nogitsune. Harder than any other time he could remember, other than the month his mom died. Derek never left his side, except to refill his glass in the bathroom sink, unwilling to leave him long enough to go all the way to the kitchen. 

He couldn’t make himself stop, and after a while there wasn’t any point to it that Stiles could see, so without a word he manhandled Derek so he was sitting against the headboard. Derek went like he was putty, automatically leaving Stiles a place to sit between his legs and lean back. Stiles pulled his laptop closer, wrapped Derek’s arms around himself, and started playing Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood again, still hiccuping.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the heaving sobs had stopped, and a sense of calm covered the room like a blanket.

Derek’s phone went off with a muffled buzz, and he checked it to confirm that yep, that was Lydia. Derek texted her back, giving her a brief explanation, and it was less than ten seconds before she replied. And replied again.

“Ooh, you’re in trouble,” said Stiles as the phone lighted up for the fifth time. “Give it to me.”

Derek handed it over with furrowed brows, and Stiles started tapping away, ignoring the all-caps screaming she’d been texting him.

**Derek > This is stiles. please stop messaging **

**Derek > until noon tomorrow**

**Derek > then as you please **

**Lydia Martin > <3 **

Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek. “Any objections?”

Derek sank down into the mattress, looking resigned and miserable. “Nope. Seems perfectly reasonable.”

Stiles nestled against him. He didn’t know if he was ready to forgive Derek yet, but he was so, so glad he was here. 

“Did you grow up watching this?” Derek asked eventually, ducking his head forward so they were cheek to cheek, eyes on the screen.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, snorting at the sock puppets and their high-pitched voices. 

“Me too. I used to watch it with Laura.”

“One of the few unproblematic things America has given the world.”

“Along with ranch dressing.”

“Mm. That is a good one,” mused Stiles.

“Although, it’s really terrible for you, and almost nobody outside of America eats it, so—”

Stiles reached over to squash his hand against Derek’s mouth without taking his eyes off the show. “Sh sh sh shh. You shush your lips.”

Derek chuckled and nipped playfully at Stiles’ fingers, then pressed his lips to Stiles’ cheek for a long, soft kiss. He sighed heavily, and held Stiles closer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, one last time. 

They fell asleep to the sound of blackbirds waking up outside, and the first rays of sun sliding across the wall.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Derek was able to call in late, promising to come in at lunchtime, when he reluctantly rolled out of bed and nervously asked if he could come back that night.

Stiles was still hurting, but seeing Derek trying to fix things so earnestly also broke his heart in the best way, so he smiled and said yes. If Derek wanted to drive 40 minutes just to hold Stiles all night, who was he to say no? His sleep schedule was going to be fucked for the next few days, anyway.

They kissed at the doorway at 11:59, and Derek’s phone rang. “Lydia,” he said, waving his phone awkwardly and biting his lip. “I’d better get this.”

“Just a second,” said Stiles. He threw himself at Derek and hugged him for a long moment. “You are a good man, Derek Hale. She’s going to make you feel like shit, but just, I don’t know. Don’t take it to heart too much. I mean, don’t do it again, obviously, but don’t let it discourage you. We’re going to figure it out.”

Derek dropped his phone in the grass and took Stiles’ face in both his hands, kissing him fiercely. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, his blue-green eyes flickering between Stiles’.

Stiles recovered quickly enough to smack him on the arm. “You deserve much better. Wait, you know what? No more deserving talk. It’s bullshit. We’re just better together. We’re going to make it great.”

“Okay,” promised Derek, ducking down to pick up his phone and running to his car. “See you tonight!” he called, jumping in and driving off in a hurry.

Stiles scratched his head and waved goodbye with the other hand before going back inside. Time to sleep until his dad came home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to include a scene where Derek’s sneaking into Stiles’ old bedroom. I _had_ to. There are _rules_.
> 
> The inspiration for this scene came from [Sometimes by Honne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4PWUhOvMHso).  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
>   
> I'm not quite satisfied with this chapter, so if you have an idea what it might need to be better, please tell me! I feel like it's missing something. Maybe because I hate using lack of communication as a plot device, but I also know that it's real-life when people hide relationship problems because they can't cope with talking about it.
> 
> Maybe I should have made Deaton and Stiles talk more about the blood sacrifices in the last chapter? To better show why Derek would just run off like that?
> 
> Help me, yodas!


	23. party hearty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday, June 20  
> The day before the wedding

It was Wednesday, the day before the wedding, and Stiles was sitting in front of his mom’s grave, a bouquet of white flowers on the ground between him and the tombstone. It was blistering hot, but Stiles welcomed the heat, welcomed the sweat sliding down his back. It anchored him in the moment and calmed his mind.

He didn’t talk to her, like he usually did. He just sat there quietly, the way he thinks they might have if she were still alive. In the same way she used to pull him aside on big days—Christmas, the first day of school, his birthday, her birthday. On those days, only those days, she could quiet him, pull him to her side and just sit.

Usually for less than ten minutes, but it always felt significant.

A big, quiet moment.

Calm amidst the storm.

He’d warded the area around before he sat down, worried that the nogitsune would try to attack him again in his moment of weakness, but he was surprised to find he was feeling strong.

Maybe it was the crying after the panic, releasing him of stress. Maybe it was Derek, earnestly trying to fix his mistakes. 

Maybe there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that his mom would be proud of him for making it this far.

He finally stood up and took a deep breath.

“You’d really like him, mom.”

He knelt down and laid a hand on the hot tombstone, swallowing hard before he walked the long trek through the cemetery, back to his car.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They kidnapped him just after dinner that night, Lydia and Scott and Brett and Kira, blindfolding him and making him sit in the back seat of his own car, blasting music and promising the bachelor party of his dreams.

Stiles had his doubts. It was a Wednesday night. In Beacon Heights. Maybe there was a rousing bingo game going on at the Episcopal church. (And he wasn’t about to spill the beans on which bar he and Derek went to last week. They called dibs, dammit.)

But as the drive went on, and Stiles got good and cozy wedged between Kira’s and Brett’s elbows and knees, he figured out pretty quickly they weren’t staying in Beacon Heights. Please. Like a blindfold would make him clueless.

“I hear bottles in the back,” said Stiles, cocking his head as Scott took a right. “We’re drinking tonight! Yes!”

“Obviously,” said Lydia’s voice, coming from the front seat. 

Brett grumbled next to him.

“Something you wanna share with the class, buddy?” said Stiles, nudging him with his shoulder to be obnoxious.

“Brett pulled the short straw tonight,” said Kira. “He’s designated driver.”

“You’ve got _wolfsbane pills?_ Okay, I’m so on board for this party. Except, you know, I shouldn’t get too wasted. I’m getting up at the crack-ass of dawn.”

“Which is why we’re starting at 7:30,” said Lydia, rolling her eyes. Stiles didn’t have to see it to know it happened. 

“Also, you guys gotta make sure I don’t have any tequila or brown liquor,” said Stiles, knowing Lydia would get exactly what he was worried about. There was a reason he hadn’t gotten drunk since New Year’s. “No moping allowed tonight.”

“We got you a keg of Blue Moon, Stiles, don’t worry,” said Lydia, despite Scott’s hissed admonishment that it was a _surprise, Lydia._ “We know how to give you a good time.”

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from being twitchy—if it weren’t for this dumb blindfold he’d be able to at least check his Twitter or something—but it wasn’t too much longer before he felt Scott pull onto different paving, smoother than the state roads.

Stiles stumbled out of the car to discover they were at Lydia’s grandmother’s lake house, which it was honestly more of a mansion than a cabin. “I thought you turned this into an AirBnb!” he said, ripping off his blindfold and looking around.

“We did,” said Lydia, patting him on the shoulder and going on ahead in high-heeled wedges. “And tonight I reserved it for myself.”

The lake house was _swanky_. Like, the fact that his dad was dating the woman who owned this house made Stiles resolve to tell him _attaboy_ sometime in the future. The sun was just starting to dip behind the nearest hills, drawing attention to the glowing windows of a large, rustic house, which was standing guard over a private beach and dock. Down by the lake, he could see all the young people from his pack, along with some of the other people in the know in Beacon Heights, about twenty in all. They were laughing and helping themselves to a banquet of buffalo wings and pizza, and speakers were pumping out Kesha. 

“So what? Did we do good?” asked Scott, slinging an arm over his shoulders.

“It’s perfect, buddy,” said Stiles, still having a hard time believing everyone had come. And holy crap, was that—“William?”

“Heeyyy, man!” William was a friend from college, one of the few supes Stiles had been able to sniff out. He was some kind of werething, and refused to tell Stiles what animal he could transform into, but Stiles already knew that he sprouted whiskers and his eyes turned pink around the new moon, so maybe Bunnicula. 

“What are you doing all the way over here? I thought you got a job in San Fran!”

“Yeah, I got time off when I heard you were getting married,” said William, grinning at him. “Besides, you had my back enough times, it was the least I could do.” 

Well, it wasn’t anything that serious, but Stiles had maybe rescued William from a mountain ash circle once sophomore year. There weren’t even any injuries, geez.

William didn’t understand that it wasn’t a real rescue without a little bit of bloodletting.

Stiles hugged him. Oh, sweet, innocent William. It meant a lot to have someone from his college come, since he’d had to separate his home life and school life so vigilantly.

“Dude,” said William softly when they broke apart, looking a little overwhelmed, “why is everyone here hot?”

“It’s a werewolf thing, believe me, I know. You seeing anyone?” At William’s shake of the head, Stiles cracked his knuckles and grinned. “Excellent. Kira? You wanna be his wing woman?”

“Talking points,” said Kira immediately. Scott had bragged about her winging skills, and it seemed he wasn’t kidding.

Stiles racked his brain for the stuff girls would like. “He works for Google, he likes surfing, he has one of those fat Scottish cats…”

“It’s a Scottish fold,” said both Kira and William at the same time.

“I literally do not care. Is that enough?”

“No problem,” said Kira confidently. “This will take ten minutes.”

She dragged William off, calling for Lori. Well, he could see it.

“Alright, Stiles, first drink of the night,” said Scott, handing Stiles a red solo cup and dropping a diluted wolfsbane pill into his own. The party was already in full swing, with laughter and splashing as people threw each other into the lake.  


Stiles grinned and knocked their cups together.

“Bottoms up.”

  
  


* * *

  
  
  
There was drinking, and beach volleyball and a competition for the Most Extra Cannonball, and then a brief announcement that reinforcements were coming who did not know about the supernatural world. The sun set, the lanterns came on, and then the drag queens from the Jungle rolled up, some in full gear, some in normal clothes and mascara, air-kissing Stiles and teasing him for being gone for so long. 

It was true. He hadn’t seen his girls since spring break. Way too long.

“Lydia, I love you!” screamed Stiles, more than a little tipsy, picking up Cecilia L’Orange and spinning her around. 

Lydia just waved and got back to her conversation. 

Then someone started playing that one song from One Republic, that one he claimed to hate but secretly loved, and Stiles started jumping and dancing, and everyone was jumping with him, even the drag queens. It was going to be a great night.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
“Hey Scott!” Stiles yelled. “I have a question.”

“Yeah, bro.” Scott came closer and bent his head as if he needed to hear better. Sometimes his childhood as a fragile human came in handy, as it was easier for him to act normal than the born wolves.

“What’s Derek doing tonight? He’s having a party too, right?”

“Yeah, his sisters have it all taken care of. He’s having a good time.”

Stiles smiled at that, but the smile dropped. “But what about you?”

“Huh?”

“Like, Scott, you’re my bro! But you’re also Derek’s bro, and he should have everyone he cares about at his party.”

“I’ll go there later, okay? You come first.”

Stiles nodded, a little mollified, and scowled at his empty cup. He drank that fast.

“Just have fun tonight, okay?” said Scott, already prepared with another cup of Blue Moon. 

Stiles smiled. “Okay.”

  


* * *

  
  
  
Stiles’ memories after that were a little spotty.

He remembered Lydia handing him some pizza, and he ate some of it, but then he gave the rest to Gina because she was looking kind of hungry. Lydia was being great, handing him food all night, and Scott was great, because he got Stiles a new drink every time he saw Stiles eating, so Stiles felt like he was about to burst but in a happy way. 

And also a kind of nauseous way, but that was no biggie.

Scott and Lydia bickered a little bit, but that’s just how they were. And Stiles stopped it fast when he draped himself over their shoulders and told them how much he loved them and how they should be having _fun_ because this was a _party_. 

After a whole three seconds of prompting, Cecilia dragged a boozy Stiles up to the dock so they could lip sync to Little Mix, which brought down the house. Like, people were falling over, they were so blown away. Even Miss Sinnabuns said he should get into drag, which Stiles had always kind of suspected? But he said thank you, because it was still an honor, and Miss Sinnabuns was a flawless glamazon bitch who deserved the politest manners.

And then he called Derek, just to make sure he was having a good time, and he started telling him about his epic lip sync skills, and then Scott was taking his phone away, even when Stiles insisted he was just making sure Derek was having a good party too. 

“Stiles. You understand why you can’t be calling Derek at your bachelor party, right?” said Scott, looking like he was laughing at Stiles a little bit.

“Yeah, man, I get it. I’m gonna go find Brett.”

“Okay, man,” said Scott. 

So Stiles turned around and yelled. “Brett! I gotta use your phone!”

“Nope, no,” said Scott, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the beer. Scott was awesome. “Here, have another,” he said, looking somewhat guiltily in Lydia's direction.

“You are a gentleman and a scholarship,” said Stiles, and he drank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So obviously Scott wants Stiles to get drunk, but I think that since Scott has never been drunk himself, he's kind of underestimating how truly terrible it is to overdo it. He just wants his bro to have a good time. Don't worry! Nothing bad is going to happen because of Scott's enabling tendencies.  
> Maybe it seems like Stiles should have told Scott about the nogitsune, but in my head, he couldn't because of pack politics--Scott would be obligated to tell Laura, which would probably cause accusations to start flying around. Also, and this is the dark side of it, Stiles had Satomi and Hideyo agree to kill him if the nogitsune ever took control. Scott would never, in a million years, let that happen without doing everything in his power to stop it. In retrospect, I wish I had stated this explicitly in earlier chapters so the secrecy made more sense now.  
> I hope you enjoyed it! There's another chapter on its way tonight!  
> Oh, and [here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dw8B1q1tKgs) is the song Stiles and Cecilia lip synced.


	24. The merge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday night, June 20  
> The bachelor party continues

Stiles woke up to a groaning sound. It cut off when he realized he was the one making it. “I gotta pee,” he said, smacking his lips. 

“Do you need help getting to the bathroom?” he heard, and he turned to find himself face to face with the most gorgeous stubble the world has ever seen.

“Hey, beautiful,” he told the stubble, patting it with one hand. “I missed you.”

“How did you get so drunk on just beer?” said the voice, and that was Derek’s voice, wasn’t it? Derek was smiling at him, and Stiles stuck a finger into one of his dimples. Right there.

“It—it was Blue Moon. Like, eight of them. Ugh. I have to pee.” Stiles slowly rolled up and rubbed his eyes. He was feeling a little less drunk and a lot more gross. They were sitting side by side in an adirondack style bench on the porch, and the party was still going on, but more subdued, around the corner. “Just, stay there. And don’t listen.”

He heard Derek snort, but Stiles was already up and stumbling across the yard so he could go pee on the hydrangeas. “What time is it?” he called over his shoulder, listing a little to the side but catching his balance in time.

“Ten thirty.”

Stiles cackled, zipped up, and headed back across the grass. “Hey, Derek, have you ever gone star-tripping?”

“What?” 

“Yeah, it’s where you look up at a star, and then you start spinning, but you have to keep looking at the star,” said Stiles, demonstrating and stumbling a bit.

Derek rushed to his side and steadied him with an arm around his waist. “Maybe you can show me when you’re not drunk.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” said Stiles. “I have _lots_ to show you when I’m not drunk. Hideyo said.”

“I have absolutely no clue what that means,” said Derek, looking a little alarmed.

Stiles tapped his arm to get his attention for a topic change. “What about you? Are you drunk?”

“A little. It’s mostly all faded off by now. But that’s okay.”

“Feeling better?” he heard, and Laura came around the corner of the house, wielding a case of water bottles and a platter of cheesy curly fries.

“What about Derek’s party?” said Stiles, going from zero to upset in two seconds flat.

“You were both being so fucking annoying that we had to merge them together. Like two grown men can’t stay apart for 24 hours.”

“Aww! You were being annoying too!” said Stiles, gazing lovingly at Derek. “That’s so sweet!”

“Please drink one of these,” said Laura flatly, dumping her supplies in Derek’s arms. “And make sure he drinks three, at least,” she went on, motioning at Stiles. 

“Ooh! Alpha homework!” said Stiles, sitting down at Derek’s feet. “We’re good at homework. Wait, you think I’m a grown man? That’s so weird.”

Laura snorted at him. “Aaaand I’ve done my duty. I’ll be with the rest of the party.”

Derek unfolded a blanket— _where did he get that_ —and put the cheesy curly fries in the middle so that Stiles would have to get on the blanket in order to get some. “Look, it’s a Stiles trap,” said Stiles, crawling his way. 

Derek sat down next to him and handed him a water bottle. “It worked, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know if I could eat anything more,” said Stiles, eating some fries anyway. Delicious. He lay on his side and propped himself up on one elbow so he could drink his water. “I know I’m a grown man, by the way. I’m twenty-fucking-three. In case you forgot and thought I was a teenager.”

“No, I know,” said Derek, taking a swig from his water bottle, dimples back out in full force. 

“And you’re twenty-eight. You’re super grown.”

“You don’t mind that we’re grown-ups?” said Derek, wincing a little at his own choice of phrasing. “Getting married and getting a house?”

“No, it’s cool. You know all those people who say high school is the time of your life? Totally not true. I like being an adult better. Even if I don’t have a job yet. Oh yeah, how was work today?”

“Pretty good. We’re working with the events coordinators for the 4th of July fireworks. Mostly just working on finding parking for everyone.”

“That’s like, 80% of your job, isn’t it? Finding parking?”

Derek looked down and laughed. “Yeah, pretty much. I got everything done so I could take the next two days off. And after work, I, uh, I talked to my therapist.”

Stiles made an interested noise and sat up so he could pay better attention. Derek had only ever talked about his therapy in general, not specific sessions. “How’d it go?”

Derek nodded and stretched out his legs, keeping his eyes on the blanket. “It was good. I mean, Sunday and Monday were kind of a step backward, in terms of not giving into guilt and running away, but he said it was to be expected that I’ll have harder days. I just wish… I disappeared at the worst time. It’s hard not to blame myself for that.”

“You know I’m not always going to be fragile like this, right?” said Stiles, scooting forward on his knees so he was perched next to Derek’s feet. “I mean, I’m not the most confident person, but the stupid voice is going to be gone, at least. I’ll be better at taking care of you, too.”

Derek reached out his right arm until he rested his hand on Stiles’ chest, right above his heart. “I know, but even after the nogitsune is captured and you’re safe, I don’t want you to ever feel like you’re alone in this. I haven’t had much relationship experience either, remember? My family knows I kind of disappear when I’m upset, and they just got used to it and let me get away with it. I think this is one of those things that I haven’t needed to fix until now. But that doesn’t remove responsibility from me. I want to do better.” 

Stiles swayed forward, then planted his butt on the blanket. “Ugh. I want to kiss you so bad right now, but I’m afraid I might throw up on you.”

Derek nudged the fries his way with a smile. “Better get to work on that, then.”  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Two hours later and functioning at 80%, they migrated down to the dock so they could dip their feet in the water, sitting with Scott and Kira, Cora and Isaac, talking softly and listening to the gentle lapping of the waves. Everyone else had either turned in at the lake house or gone home to sleep because they were working the next day. 

Isaac slapped his neck with a hiss, killing a mosquito with vengeance, and Stiles perked up. “Oh! I know how to do this now!” He conjured up a potion that Hideyo assured him wouldn’t be offensive to werewolf noses and threw it up into the air, letting it trickle down around them in a dome. “There. No more mosquitos.”

The look on Derek’s face was suitably impressed, but Stiles wasn’t done. He leaned forward and scraped a bioluminescence rune into the air, pushing it into the water so it latched onto all the catfish in the lake, which turned out to be far more than he first predicted, at least fifty in their vicinity. They lit up the lake with a subtle shifting glow, glinting both near and far. A giant glowing carp more than four feet long swam under their feet, making even Cora gasp at the sight. 

Stiles didn’t want to disrupt the lake too badly, so it was just a couple of minutes before he pulled the rune back and dispelled it into the air. They sat back and listened to the crickets, watching the stars slowly drift across the sky.

Derek took Stiles’ hand, and when Stiles looked at him, Derek was staring at him like he’d also lit up the stars with his magical light show. They met in the middle with a soft kiss, closed-mouthed and quiet.

It was _completely inoffensive_.

So there was no reason for everyone else on the dock to start yelling and splashing them with gross lakewater. 

Fucking killjoys.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They stayed up all night, which was a breeze for Stiles, even with the last dregs of alcohol leaving his system. His utter lack of sleep schedule that week was coming in handy.

As for Brett, he was rapidly becoming the MVP of the night, and he drove Stiles’ Jeep the 25 minutes to the nemeton, aiming to arrive around 4 a.m. Stiles sat in the passenger seat, glancing affectionately at the back seat, where Scott and Kira were dozing, Scott’s head on Kira’s shoulder.

Halfway through the ride, they caught up with a small cavalcade, recognizing Laura’s car, Jackson’s porsche, his dad’s squad car, Satomi’s, and more. 

It was evolving into a surreal, semi-religious family reunion, which actually described many aspects of the supernatural lifestyle. Stiles leaned his forehead on the window, enjoying the shadowy trees rolling by, feeling strangely at peace.

The peace shattered when he saw a flash of antlers and panicked eyes bouldering his way, and it took an instant of adrenaline and instinct to throw his hands out, pushing the elk away just in time, shattering the window and windshield with the force of his power.

“Shit!” screamed Brett, having enough peace of mind to pull to the side before stopping the Jeep. The cars behind them stopped quickly, fortunately without any collisions.

Stiles looked back at where the elk was rolling to its feet, ambling in his direction once more.

“Something doesn’t want you getting married,” said Scott, his eyes flashing gold.

“Stiles, your phone,” said Brett.

Stiles forcefully put the demon-possessed elk to sleep, making it fall back into the underbrush, before answering his buzzing phone.

“Are you alright?” It was Hideyo, sounding more worried than Stiles had ever heard him.

“Yeah,” said Stiles, his heart still pounding. “It was an elk, but I put it to sleep.”

“Get to the nemeton, before it jumps to something else,” ordered Hideyo. “We’ve warded the whole area. You’ll be safe once you reach the clearing.”

Brett started driving again, and Stiles looked back to see that Kira’s kitsune form was manifesting, filling his back seat with orange, crackling energy. “Nogitsune,” she said, snarling.

“Yes,” said Stiles, hoping they wouldn’t ask too many questions about it. “It’s trying to possess me. Once we complete the binding ceremony, the nemeton will be strong enough to contain it again.” And the open door in Stiles would be closed.

“I can feel it—it’s jumping ahead,” said Kira, unbuckling her seatbelt. She climbed out the broken window on the passenger side, making Brett yelp in confusion, and unfurled her belt so it straightened into a sword. “I’ll keep watch. Get Stiles to the ceremony,” she said, hanging onto the top of the car before leaping on top. Stiles stuck his head out and saw her standing on top of the Jeep, knees bent, sword at the ready. 

“If you don’t marry her, dude,” Stiles told Scott, “I’m disowning you.”

“Ten o’clock,” yelled Kira, and Stiles looked out front to where another deer, a doe this time, was angled on a kamikaze course for the Jeep.

Prepared now, Stiles put it to sleep as well. 

Brett skidded to a stop inside the clearing, and Stiles felt his ears pop as they crossed the barrier into safety. “Where’s Derek?” he said, jumping out of the car, barely remembering to avoid the glass shards in the window.

“Right here,” he heard Laura shout, pulling up beside them, and then Stiles had an armful of sweaty beta werewolf, shaking and scent-marking him like crazy.

“Hey, hey, I’m alright,” he said, petting Derek’s hair and hugging him close. 

They heard an enraged screech and saw the dim shadow of a massive crow trying to dive-bomb them, turning away as it hit the barrier and trying again. 

“It can’t come inside,” said Hideyo, joining them and shining a flashlight at the dark shape. “Nothing with malicious intent can.”

Stiles frowned, but he nodded. “Good.” He made the rune for preventing self-harm and added it to the barrier. The crew dove their way one last time, then flew off, protesting loudly. “What happened? It hasn’t been strong enough to control anything bigger than a fly. Wait, do you have a black eye?”

Hideyo shook his head, looking frustrated. “It was drawing power from the nemeton. When Deaton and I started preparing for the binding ceremony, that disrupted its power source, and it turned to us.”

“It turned to you? What does that—” Stiles narrowed his eyes as he figured it out. “It made you fight.”

Hideyo nodded, closing off the emotions on his face again. “Yes.”

“You and Deaton.”

Hideyo just looked at him, relying on Stiles to remember that _he did not like that French Canadian._

Stiles lifted his eyebrows at Derek, hoping he understood his nonverbal _can you believe this?_

Derek was too confused to participate in their silent conversation, like the idea of their emissaries out-and-out engaging in fisticuffs broke his brain.

They should have expected this, really. A demon that feeds on strife and chaos would obviously cause violence when it could. 

A clapping noise made him jump, and he spotted Lydia marching their way, back to business. “Alright, the danger’s over,” she said, projecting her voice just a tad louder than a normal human could so everyone in the clearing could hear. “Get to work. We have less than twenty minutes to start, and I did not do all this work for nothing.”

Stiles turned, holding hands with Derek, and he gaped.

Somehow, in the chaos of throwing two bachelor parties, Lydia and Cora had arranged for someone to set up at least 40 chairs, with homey-looking lights at each end. There were tables set up for a buffet on the far side, where people were already helping themselves to coffee and pastries, and white, billowy tents nearby. Everything was centered around the massive tree stump in the middle, the nemeton. Even in its weakened state, Stiles could still feel the thrum of power emanating from it, making his fingers itch and his scalp prickle. 

It was a beautiful setting, brimming with life and magic even in the middle of the night.

Derek’s face was devastated, and Stiles realized he would inevitably be reliving the day Paige died in this place, in the cellar built within the nemeton’s roots. Stiles squeezed his hand, and when Derek looked at him, Stiles leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, his adrenaline shifting easily to determination. “Come on, big guy,” he said. “Let’s go make some good memories.”

Derek closed his eyes and touched his forehead to Stiles’, breathing deeply. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing roughly. “Sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is [Paris in the Rain by Lauv ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOCkne-Bku4) just because it's so cute. And I have a thing for guys singing high? why is that?  
> I'm sorry it took so long for me to update! I've been writing the next few chapters and wanted to make sure they all hung together well enough. There's a good chance that the next update I post will be the rest of the story all at once, then maybe an epilogue after that.


	25. the wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday morning, June 21  
> The summer solstice

Lydia herded them to a tent that billowed softly on the far side of the clearing, lit up with lanterns that Stiles had thought were electric but he now saw were Hideyo’s handiwork, bright and cheery beacons of magical light. He might be showing off for Deaton. The thought made Stiles snicker a bit.

They dressed quickly, casting shy glances at each other, and Stiles was still struggling with his tie when he beheld Derek in his suit for the first time. He was wearing a linen suit too, similar in style, but one just a couple shades darker, a gray-tan color that drew attention to his hazel eyes and gorgeous skin tone. Fucking sexy GQ mountain man with a rugged beard.

Stiles didn’t think he was staring _too_ badly, but Derek huffed at him and smirked, grabbing him by the tie. “Need help with that?”

Stiles darted forward and kissed him, smoldering and slow.

“Five minutes!” Cora called from outside the tent. “Try to keep it in your pants until then.”

They broke apart, laughing and embarrassed, and Derek took over Stiles’ tie, finishing up and smoothing it down with a pat. “Ready to get married?”

“Am I ready?” Stiles took him by the hand and pulled him out of the tent. “I am going to husband the crap out of you.”

Just in time, the seats all filled at 4:15 with his bleary-eyed loved ones. His dad looked like nothing was keeping him awake but six cups of coffee and Natalie Martin’s arm hooked through his, and his pack poked at each other, yawning and dozing slightly. Stiles couldn’t help chuckling at them, especially when he saw that Hideyo had covered up his customary Hawaiian shirt with a fancy multicolored robe, and so had Deaton. 

Stiles took one last look outside the boundary, frowning. They’d originally planned for the nogitsune to be so weakened, getting cut off by the nemeton, that it would be child’s play to capture. The fact that it had gained strength, instead, didn’t bode well for the end of the ceremony.

“Stiles, before we go,” said Derek, tugging on his hand to get his attention.

“Yes?” said Stiles, turning back to Derek, his pulse racing a bit. The whole situation was once-in-a-lifetime overwhelming.

“I’m so honored to be marrying you,” said Derek, speaking deliberately, like each word had been carefully chosen, carrying the weight of a hundred discarded drafts. 

Stiles looked at the man who would be his husband in less than twenty minutes, and let himself wish for just a moment. That they could have courted each other slowly, that they’d be married at a decent hour, in a place with flushing toilets and an open bar and a distinct lack of demonic attacks. That they would have already been together for so long that there were no doubts, that their habits with each other were well-worn and comfortable. 

But in the end, there was nobody Stiles would rather do this with. And he knew that even if they were rushed, and they’d been pushed so far out of their comfort zones they were practically in the stratosphere, they already had something special. Something worth telling grandchildren about, maybe.

“I feel the same way about you,” Stiles told him, feeling like the sincerity in his chest was a tangible thing, filling up his lungs and giving him courage.

Derek just gave him the smallest smile, in the corners of his mouth.

“Come with me,” ordered Lydia, grabbing Stiles by the arm and pulling him to one side of the nemeton, next to Satomi and Hideyo.

Derek looked automatically annoyed, but Cora pounced and brought Derek to his place on the opposite side.

Stiles felt his heart pounding a bit. This wasn’t exactly a marriage ceremony—it was more about merging two packs than it was about the two of them making vows—but he was grateful that Derek had stolen a moment just for the two of them. 

Deaton and Hideyo stepped to the center, in front of a brazier that was flickering merrily. “We will now begin,” said Deaton, calm and professional, as if the fight had never happened.

Hideyo snapped his fingers, and all the electric lanterns went out, leaving only the brazier as a source of light, casting dancing shadows on the emissaries’ faces. Once everyone’s eyes adjusted, Stiles stole a glance out to the audience, where he saw a sea of golden beta eyes shining back at him, along with a few pairs of blue, shifting in order to see better.

Deaton continued, making eye contact with people throughout the crowd. “We come here, to the world tree, to form an alliance between two packs, two alphas, and two mates.”

Stiles shivered a little. ‘Mates’ was a word steeped in tradition, one not used by the supernatural world for at least a hundred years, but at this moment, he was inclined to believe in it. He felt like they’d been transported into the past, to the time when this binding ceremony was common between packs. There was a subtle pulse from the nemeton that the werewolves couldn’t feel, but it nudged up under his feet from the earth and set his teeth on edge.

“Alpha Laura Hale,” said Hideyo, bending slightly and exposing his neck. “We invite you into an alliance.”

“Alpha Satomi Ito,” said Deacon, doing the same. “We invite you into an alliance.”

“We accept,” said Satomi and Laura in unison, their eyes glowing red. 

The emissaries presented Derek and Stiles, then it was Satomi and Laura’s turn to invite them to be the bridge between their packs. Laura went first, picking up a cylindrical wooden box with the Hale triskelion on its lid. 

Laura cleared her throat and smiled at him mischievously. “Stiles Stilinski,” she said, pitching her voice loud enough for everyone, “I have three tokens to give you. The first is butterfly bush, which symbolizes rebirth. We hope and pray that this binding will cause the nemeton to be reborn, and our two territories will be revitalized, entering a time of peace and prosperity.”

She held out a small bundle of green leaves and stems, tightly bound with twine, and Stiles took it, holding it in his increasingly sweaty hands. On an impulse, he reached across and took Derek’s hand, unable to bear the two feet of empty space between them any longer. 

“The second token is clover, which is the plant counterpart to the Hale triskelion, the symbol of our family. Welcome to the family, Stiles,” said Laura, smiling at him and handing him the sprig of clover, before picking up the last bundle. “Finally, we offer you willow, which symbolizes love and adaptability. We hope that as a part of our pack, you will be surrounded by love in _all_ its forms—in family, in friendship, and in romance.” Laura was _such a little shit_ sometimes—she obviously said the part about romantic love to needle at him and Derek—but Stiles knew this and loved her all the more for it. 

Besides, he could be annoyed and tearing up a little simultaneously.

Derek shifted on his feet, looking a little put on the spot, but he held Stiles’ gaze and offered him a small, awkward smile.

And Stiles loved—

He looked down at their hands clenched together and laughed wetly. _Of fucking course_ this would be the moment he knew. He’d felt it coming on for a while, like how you know a cold is coming or a headache or any other unpleasant metaphor that is so completely incorrect because this wasn’t something awful at all. 

For the first time, he wasn’t scared of this feeling. He wasn’t ashamed of falling so fast. Even if Derek wasn’t there yet, even if he never quite made it, Stiles knew Derek would see his love as a gift. And Stiles was so ready to give it.

He realized that the ceremony had stopped, waiting for him. He reined in his emotion enough to croak out, “I accept.”

And the fact that Derek had the gall to look relieved—Stiles was going to make it his mission to make Derek see that Stiles was a sure bet. He had no intention of going anywhere. 

Laura held the triskele box out with both hands so that Stiles could place the three tokens inside, then handed it over. It felt right in his hand, the perfect representation of his new life. 

“This was my grandfather’s,” she said, speaking privately for Stiles, even though nearly everybody there could hear anyway. “It was made from the wood of the nemeton when it was still growing strong.”

Stiles took it and swallowed heavily. He knew how weighty it was to give something that belonged to someone loved and departed.

“Derek Hale,” said Satomi, stepping forward in turn, her red eyes snapping with intelligence and experience as they reflected the firelight, “I also have three tokens to give you.” She opened the black lacquered box in her hands, one Stiles knew for a fact usually sat on Satomi’s vanity. “The first is hydrangea, which in Japanese, we call _ajisai_. In your culture, it has a negative meaning, one of pride and vanity. In ours, it has many meanings, but today, I only wish to express apology and gratitude.”

Stiles heard Laura let out a small gasp, and Derek gripped Stiles’ hand just a little harder. 

Satomi continued without a pause. “I apologize for doing so little in your time of need. I apologize for the years of silence after, for allowing my feelings of shame to turn into cowardice.”

Satomi spoke easily, but it was the ease of a rehearsed speech, one with all the emotion carefully locked away. Even Stiles was shocked. Satomi—well, she wasn’t from their time, and she sometimes bumped heads with current American culture. Post-modern ideals of transparency and communication rubbed her the wrong way, and fought with with her natural alpha instinct to always present a strong, impenetrable front. Apologizing in front of her pack, in front of the Hale pack, was unthinkable. 

But she was doing it.

“As for gratitude, I am thankful for your cooperation and your generosity. You have offered up yourself for peace, Derek Hale, and we may never repay the debt.”

Derek took the sprig of hydrangea from Satomi, his chest heaving a little with deep breaths, his throat bobbing up and down.

“The second token is the peony. In Japanese culture, it symbolizes bravery and masculinity, a fitting symbol for yourself. We appreciate the bravery that you have shown for many years now, and willingly welcome you into our pack. And the third,” said Satomi, turning back to pick up the final token, “is myrtle.”

Stiles went on high alert, staring at her with mouth open.

“Myrtle is not a Japanese plant,” said Satomi, “as I’m sure Stiles would be quick to tell you.” And she _winked_ at him. 

This could not be real life. Stiles had a hard time swallowing the laugh trying to crawl up his throat.

“Myrtle is a plant that symbolizes love and marriage in Jewish culture, part of our Stiles’ heritage. Today, I offer you myrtle as a promise to accept and treasure your differences as well, as a new member of my pack.”

Satomi held Stiles’ gaze then, and the only thing stopping him from attacking her with a hug was the fact that one hand was holding the box of Laura’s tokens and the other was wrapped in Derek’s hand. Stiles wasn’t religious, really, but his Jewish heritage was something that he was growing more and more in love with as time went on. It was a way of connecting with his mom’s side of the family. 

He looked out into the crowd, in the direction where he remembered seeing his dad. It was too dark to see him clearly, but he didn’t need to see his face, not really. He knew the sheriff would be doing his quintessential dad face, smiling eyes and set mouth, beaming with pride. 

“I accept,” said Derek, taking the last plant, then the box. 

Hideyo and Deaton came to stand behind them, in front of the nemeton. The four of them looked at each other expectantly, until Hideyo cleared his throat meaningfully and looked down at their hands.

“Oh,” said Stiles, letting go of Derek’s hand now, causing titters through the audience and a loud scoffing noise that he was 96% sure came from Jackson. 

Hideyo and Deaton took one hand each and started writing runes into the air, some Stiles knew well, some that he just knew he’d be looking up later. As the runes came into being, they glowed with a faint yellow-green, phosphorescent light, and snapped together to make lines that floated in the breeze. The light cast a pale glow on their faces, the same color as the coming dawn tinging the sky. 

When the runes were finished, both Deaton and Hideyo each held a glowing ribbon of words, which they wrapped once around both Stiles and Derek’s wrists. The magic felt like a distant, not unpleasant, tingling sensation on the skin. Derek glanced over at Stiles, the corners of his mouth lifting in childlike fascination. 

“Okay, _now_ you can hold hands,” said Deaton, making the audience laugh again.

As soon as Stiles and Derek clasped hands, one end of each ribbon snapped together so the magical runes bound them together in a handfasting ceremony, which was so obviously a Hale tradition that Stiles had to smile. Derek was blushing profoundly, and holy shit, that was his—

“—husband and husband,” Hideyo was saying, “bridge between packs, mates bound together in loyalty, in intention, and in mutual care.”

Derek looked deep into Stiles’ eyes, the firelight and glow from the handfasting catching the facets of his irises, calm and sure and bursting at the seams with unexpressed emotion. Stiles felt himself start to grin, overcome with joy, and bounced excitedly on his ankles. He could barely wait for Hideyo to say—

“You may now—”

And they were already kissing, mouths closed but no less meaningful for it, Derek pulling Stiles closer with his right arm. They broke it off, becoming aware of the audience chuckling at them again, but Stiles could care less. He’d just married the man he was in love with. And the fact that that man was beaming back at him just made his heart soar all the higher. 

Their crowd of loved ones started clapping, and Stiles heard Brett and Scott hooting and making complete asses of themselves. Derek was still bright red and that didn’t seem like it would stop anytime soon, and the clearing had brightened enough that Stiles could make out his father’s face. His dad was nodding and clapping along with everyone else, his eyes looking suspiciously wet. 

There was a ton of hard work ahead, habits to compromise and adjustments and arguments to make, but if Stiles had learned anything from this month with Derek, it was that together, they could do improbable things. And if they were both determined to be happy and healthy together, someday, they’d make it happen.

“Just a moment,” said Deaton, grabbing their attention again. “There’s one more step, and then I believe we have a wedding buffet to enjoy.” The clapping died off, and he and Hideyo wrote one large rune together, one Stiles recognized as one of the runes for renewal. They waved it toward Derek and Stiles, and when it hit the glowing runes of the handfasting, the handfasting melted through their arms, through Deaton and Hideyo’s bodies, and into the nemeton. 

There was a breathless moment of silence, and there was a tiny magical pulse that Stiles wasn’t sure anyone else could feel. All the werewolves snapped their gaze to a place on the right side of the nemeton, and Stiles leaned so he could see around Satomi just in time to watch a tiny, fragile life unfurl.

Stiles glanced at Hideyo and saw that he was tearing up now, of all times. Even Deaton looked like he’d been shocked into next year. 

It was such a small thing, laughable in its unobtrusiveness, but it meant everything. 

Stiles turned to the audience one more time, searching for the faces of his closest friends again, but his gaze was arrested by something else.

Just beyond the boundaries of the clearing, a mountain lion prowled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did entirely too much research on these stupid plants and hope it didn’t make any of you fall asleep? 
> 
> Con/crit please! I would love some!


	26. come at me mountain lion

A mountain lion was nothing to be afraid of anymore. His magic aside, your average 12-year-old werewolf would have no problem taking it down. No, it wasn’t the animal that was filling Stiles with dread.

It was the demon inside, and the fact that looking at the mountain lion felt like looking into a mirror. _We are too strongly bound, Stiles,_ said the voice in his head. _We are as close, nay, closer than ever._

“That’s no ordinary mountain lion,” said Laura, nostrils flaring and claws unsheathing themselves with a _snick._

In the dim twilight between night and morning, the two packs turned around and spotted it, instantly breaking into a furor of unanswered questions and confusion. Derek tugged Stiles a little closer as his protective instincts came to the surface. 

“It is the _nogitsune,_ ” said Satomi, clenching her jaw in frustration. “It should have become much weaker with the binding ceremony. How is it possessing the mountain lion?”

Stiles spotted someone he vaguely remembered as Kira’s mom angrily striding their way. “Your emissaries must have given it power when they were warding this place,” she said, growing furious with every word. And whoa, lady, first of all, this was no time to be freaking out, and secondly—

“Are you accusing my emissary of doing the wards improperly?” said Satomi, drawing herself taller. “If anyone made a mistake, it was Deaton. He attacked my emissary, his _elder_ , and—”

Laura leaped to defend her emissary. “Deaton would never attack anyone unless he was under the influence of a demon that you apparently knew about and chose not to warn us about. It is not his fault that he wasn’t prepared—”

“Oh, crap,” said Stiles, looking at the mountain lion, which was sitting unnaturally still, its mouth hanging open. “It’s feeding.”

He tuned out the alphas and their growing tension to check on his packs (he had two packs now, how crazy was that), and sure enough, they were standing and already shouting at each other. So much for their beautiful wedding. In less than a minute, their peace and contentment had been destroyed in favor of bickering and increasingly more violent threats.

Stiles barely felt the difference, after so long withstanding the nogitsune’s negative influence, but nobody else present had that advantage.

“Crap, crap, crap. Derek, they’re going to fight for real,” said Stiles, looking at his new husband in worry.

Derek had his angry face on, and he shook his head like he was trying to shake off rainwater, fighting with himself. “If you had just told us—no, I don’t want to say anything but, I’m angry, Stiles.” He walked away for a moment, clearly torn, but turned back around. “It’s just, it’s your fault that—no, I don’t mean that, I’m sorry—”

A scuffling sound caught Stiles’ attention, and there were Hideyo and Deaton trying to choke each other, knocking down the brazier and Scott and some werewolf he didn’t even know were wolfing out and snarling and this was all getting _very out of hand_.

Chaos demon. Right.

No time for dilly-dallying, as Satomi liked to say.

Stiles clapped his hands in readiness and drew up a sleep rune, so easy after using it already today, and without even letting himself question his plan, he multiplied it into 51 sleep runes and blew them out like dandelion seeds in the wind. 

The sleep runes flew out and hit everybody else in the clearing, slumping them to the ground in seconds, leaving only him and Derek standing. 

The sudden silence was ear-ringing.

“Stiles?” said Derek, his face going from confused to mistrustful to apologetic like the colors of a cuttlefish. His instincts must be going haywire right now.

“It was getting stronger with the chaos,” said Stiles, turning his full attention on Derek. “We need a plan.”

“But, Deaton…” Derek turned to where Deaton was laying unconscious, the sleeves of his robes skewed over his face.

“I’m the only one who can do this,” said Stiles. “I’ve been resisting the nogitsune for months. It can’t hurt me.”

Derek was visibly trying to fight off the negative influence of the nogitsune. “What do we need to do? Should we, uh…” He sighed, looking around a little fearfully. “We can use the tent, I guess, and…”

Stiles caught on. Derek meant they should consummate their marriage, now. In the same clearing where their packs were sleeping, with a demon-possessed mountain lion prowling outside. “No, not like this, Derek. Over my dead body.” Before Derek could get the wrong idea, he took Derek by the lapels and pulled him close to speak quietly into his ear. “You know why? Because I love you, and I trust you, and I just got married to the most incredible man in the world. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. And dammit if I’m not going to slow-bone you the way you deserve, in our own house, without anyone else around.”

“You love me,” Derek repeated numbly, looking wrecked and overwhelmed all at once, drinking in Stiles’ face like he’d been dying of thirst.

“I love you so much,” said Stiles, pressing his lips to Derek’s for a firm kiss. “Which is why I can, and will, fix this.”

“Stiles, wait!” 

Stiles had suspected that Derek was going to try and stop him, and he was prepared, shooting a sleeping rune at him, then catching Derek around the shoulders and clumsily helping him to the ground before he could just fall. “I’ll wake you up when I’m done,” he said, kissing his cheek one more time as Derek’s eyes closed, and his horrified face relaxed to sweet oblivion.

“Alright, you _fucking asshole_ ,” said Stiles, turning to the nogitsune, letting anger fuel his determination. Hideyo had taught him about the four angers, about the ways each one affected one’s magic. There was the anger of embarrassment, the anger of futility, and the anger of self-distraction and delusion, but he wasn’t feeling any of those at the moment. 

This was the anger that was fueled by the need for justice. For righteousness, basically, even if it made Stiles feel weird thinking about it that way. For the innocent to be protected, and for _Derek’s wedding day to not become a complete shitshow._

For fuck’s sake. Let the man have a break.

The nogitsune had been bound by the nemeton for decades, until the nemeton’s energy became corrupted and fed it with tainted power. Now that the nemeton was healing, its veins coursing with new life, it would hold it again. 

Stiles emptied the plants from his box—it was a really nice box, he thought mournfully—and shoved it under his left arm, his other hand busy making runes so he had a small flurry of runes swirling around his right hand.

 _Finally you come to play, Stiles._ The mountain lion stood at the boundary, panting and flicking its tail back and forth.

“I am so fucking over this Bane fanboy nonsense,” said Stiles, quickly walking down the aisle to where the demon waited. “I have a riddle for you, this time. What do you call a demon that _could_ talk normally, but chooses to talk like a Batman villain for attention?”

The mountain lion snarled. _That is no riddle_. 

“No, but it is the more pertinent question,” said Stiles, crossing the boundary. His ears popped, and he felt his first tremor of misgiving upon realizing he was within pouncing distance of a _demon possessed mountain lion_. 

Said mountain lion rose gently, menacingly, to its feet. _You speak in nonsense._

“Okay, fair enough, you are not up to date on pop culture and I shouldn’t expect you to be, considering the last person you possessed was during World War II.”

_Do you know why I chose you, Stiles?_

“I really wish you would stop saying my name every time you speak. It’s very weird,” said Stiles, but it was all to hide the fact that this topic change had him feeling fazed. 

_It was your loneliness, Stiles. Your self-doubt. Your doubt in your friends, in your pack. That loneliness makes a scent of its own to my kind, and you were reeking of it. You’ve been lonely for years._

Stiles felt his confidence waver, like grass in the wind. 

_You think that your marriage will save you?_ The nogitsune’s laugh was dry, and the mountain lion started stalking him. _Have you never seen an unhappy marriage? Have you never seen love dissolve under the stress of constant neediness, of feeling unworthy, feeling unloved? Do you think love fixes loneliness?_

Stiles froze, and one of the thousands of unrelated facts swimming in his head broke to the surface. Married people reported higher rates of loneliness than single people. He’d read that. He knew that, once. But somehow, he’d managed to shove it out of his mind ever since he sat across Derek at that diner.

Derek could protect him from the nogitsune, but in the end, the nogitsune wasn’t what he feared most. 

_I know what it is to be lonely,_ said the nogitsune, dipping its heavy head in a manner that seemed almost friendly. _With me, you would never feel lonely again._

Stiles called bullshit. If a relationship wasn’t going to cure his chronic loneliness, demon possession wasn’t a viable plan B. He shook his head and mustered his determination. “Come out of the lion,” he ordered, flicking a pair of runes that way. Calm. Run.

The lion exhaled a cloud of gray ash and bounded away. The ash swirled on itself like a slow tornado, barely visible in the slowly brightening sunlight. _You think you can contain me? In your little oak box?_

Stiles didn’t bother answering. Instead, he focused on a memory. He couldn’t just rely on Derek to fix his problems, that was true. The memory of their wedding, frozen behind him, wasn’t strong enough. Instead, he pictured three nights ago, when Derek crawled through his childhood bedroom window, both of them broken in different ways. 

They fucked up. But they kept going. Derek went to therapy, they listened to friends and family, they apologized, and they kept going. His marriage wasn’t going to fix him. That was too much pressure to place on one relationship. But if there was one thing he could believe in, it was growth. Slow progress, two steps forward and one step back, fighting tooth and nail to be better, just a bit healthier than they were six months ago.

Stiles was no werewolf, but he had found an anchor. It wasn’t a person, or a physical object.

It was the way his dad talked on the phone with Natalie Martin, after years of grieving.

It was Satomi apologizing in front of her pack and a neighboring pack, led by a woman only a fraction of her age. 

It was Derek and the first time he reached out to hold Stiles’ hand.

It was Stiles and every hard-fought day he’d survived to get here.

It was the tiny, fragile sprout growing from a dead oak stump.

Sensing that Stiles was growing further and further out of its reach, the nogitsune snarled, echoing in Stiles’ mind. Before Stiles could use the runes swirling readily at his fingertips, it jumped.

It flew down his open mouth, coating his tongue with ash, hurling Stiles into a coughing fit that distracted and drove him to panic. He couldn’t breathe, the demon was inside him, he couldn’t—

He scrabbled at his necktie with one hand and closed his eyes. He was still himself. He had a minute, maybe two. 

He hadn’t come this far to die like this.

He stumbled, sprinted back into the clearing, or tried to, but his lungs hit the barrier and lurched him to a stop. He couldn’t pass while the nogitsune was inside. He needed a way to get it to the nemeton. Now that the nemeton was growing again, it would hold the nogitsune. If he could get to it.

Or if he could bring the nemeton to him. Inside him.

He still, improbably, held the triskele box in his hand. He closed his eyes, feeling his face turning blue, and willed himself into oneness with the wood in his hand.

What good is a druid-in-training that can’t connect with the trees? And did the handfasting ceremony not bind him to the nemeton as well?

The triskele box leached into him, turning his skin to wood, rapidly crawling up his arm and into his chest cavity where the nogitsune resided, yet unable to take control. His lungs creaked, and he coughed again, the oak in his lungs kicking out the nogitsune like a robber from a marketplace.

Out came a disgusting gob of black mucus, straight into the triskele box. 

His vision starting to black out, Stiles slid the box’s lid into place, fell to his knees, and passed out.


	27. going home

He came to with a warm nose blowing wet, hot air across his face, and gasped.

Clean, natural air filled his lungs, and he looked straight into the eyes of a doe, very possibly the doe that tried to charge him earlier. 

The doe, improbably sparkly clean and fresh-smelling for a wild animal, huffed in his face one more time before sauntering into the clearing, past the hordes of sleeping wedding guests, and around the nemeton so it vanished on the other side. 

Stiles slowly sat up and took another deep breath, feeling like he would never, ever, ever take the clean air of the preserve for granted again.

He looked up at the sky. The sun was just peeking through the trees, their shadows long and clear, so he must have not been asleep for more than twenty minutes.

Now he had to wake everyone up and explain what happened.

Oh boy oh boy.

“I just want to put it on record that I hate mornings,” grumbled Stiles to no one, getting to his feet, then picking up the triskele box and crossing the boundary without any difficulty. A flood of waking runes had everyone in the clearing blinking and shaking their heads. Stiles walked straight up to Deaton, since Hideyo was taking his sweet time standing up, and put the triskele box in his hands.

“The nogitsune’s inside,” he said. “Your turn to deal with it.”

Deaton jumped a little, looking down at the box with trepidation.

“The box will hold the nogitsune now, right?” Stiles double-checked. “Since the nemeton’s putting out good energy and everything?”

Deaton nodded, and that was good enough for him.

“Stiles,” he heard, and he turned to see Derek, standing in his wedding suit, looking devastated and relieved and about sixteen other emotions. 

“I did it,” said Stiles, and he started crying, just as the first true rays of sun lit up the clearing.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Stiles had been crying far too often for his preference lately, but he could think of worse times than his wedding day and upon ridding himself of a Japanese chaos demon. And it had the unexpected perk of kicking Derek into protective overdrive, scenting Stiles almost continuously as Stiles tried his best to explain how he defeated the nogitsune by turning himself into the nemeton, maybe? He’d been hoping it wouldn’t sound so completely insane when he said it out loud, but, no dice.

Anyhow, after the last ten hellish minutes, he wasn’t going to complain about Derek’s constant hugging and scenting and worried half-kisses to the side of his head.

Stiles got through his story exactly once, then Derek cut off all the incredulous questions and pulled Stiles over to his Jeep, wedding breakfast be damned. Stiles had just enough time to hug his dad, promising the full account as soon as possible, before Derek whisked him off to the sound of the obligatory whistles and catcalls. Stiles leaned carefully out the broken window of his beloved Jeep and waved back at everybody until they were hidden behind a bend in the road.

He sat down in his seat with a satisfied sigh.

“Seatbelt,” said Derek, his eyes glued to the road.

Stiles went along with it. He remembered well the panic in Derek’s face when he realized Stiles was going after the nogitsune alone. There was still a little bit left over now.

“I’m sorry I put you to sleep like that,” said Stiles. He didn’t exactly regret it—it was necessary at the time—but it wasn’t, generally, kind behavior. 

“It’s good you did,” said Derek, looking like the concession pained him. “I was losing control quickly. We all were. I just… I felt so powerless.”

“I don’t want to make you feel powerless,” said Stiles quietly.

Derek swallowed, and he didn’t look at Stiles. “Because you love me.”

Stiles took a breath to calm his nerves. “Because I love you.”

Derek sniffed noisily, wiped his nose on his rumpled suit jacket, and just nodded. 

Stiles didn’t know what that meant, but he figured that Derek had a lot to process. Shit, Stiles had a lot to process. So when the silence stretched, he let it remain, let his mind go all the directions it wanted to.

He should probably go back to therapy.

Huh.

Last time he had a therapist, he’d been a freshman, going through a brutal wakeup call. High school academics had been such a breeze that he’d wrongly assumed college would be too. Cue the panic attacks.

His college therapist was good, but he hadn’t told anybody that he was seeing one, too horrified by the idea of it affecting his already terrible dating life. This time, there was no need for secrets. Derek would support him. This, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Besides, if his loneliness was chronic enough to attract the attention of the local demon, he should probably get to work on that.

“What are you thinking?” said Derek, pulling into their neighborhood. Stiles hadn’t even realized they were in Beacon Hills yet.

“Therapy,” said Stiles, leaning his head against the back of the seat and watching Derek. “For me.”

Derek just nodded. “Probably a good idea. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Yeah. And, I want to get our marriage started on its best foot. The nogitsune made me realize that I still have work to do.”

Derek turned into their driveway, parked, and turned off the car before facing Stiles. “You’re incredible,” he said gently, his eyes flicking back and forth like he couldn’t take in all of Stiles’ face at once.

Stiles couldn’t find a response to that, other than to slowly lean Derek’s way.

Derek met him with soft lips and a firm hand at Stiles’ jaw, kissing him with purpose. “Thank you,” he said, and Stiles wasn’t sure what he was talking about until he said, “I’m sorry I’m not ready to say it back yet, but that’s a me thing, okay? I—I just want you to know you’re not alone in this. I’m right there with you.”

Stiles was surprised Derek could even say that much, so he ran his fingers through Derek’s hair and nodded. Maybe it was the sudden absence of darkness and stress from the nogitsune, but he didn’t feel discouraged in the least. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

They opened the gate next to the driveway and walked, hand-in-hand, to their front door. Stiles was distracted, looking at their happy rainbow windmills, when Derek got a mischievous look in his eye and made to carry Stiles in, bridal-style.

“What! No. Absolutely not,” squawked Stiles, vainly trying to tickle Derek into submission. “I’m a man, dammit.”

Derek picked him up in one arm and opened the door with the other. “I’m not ticklish.”

“Of course you aren’t. No, you will not—” Stiles spun out a quick rune, and Derek’s feet floated off the ground just as they were crossing the threshold. “Ha! Hahaha!”

Derek landed back on the ground and stumbled a bit before letting Stiles back down. “What the fuck?”

“I carry you! Ha! I DRINK YOUR MILKSHAKE!”

Derek looked at Stiles like he’d gone insane before he sputtered into laughter, his eyebrows flying up like he was surprised and his chest heaving. He reached for Stiles and hugged him hard enough that Stiles’ feet left the ground again, snickering into his ear and getting a little hysterical. “You’re such a goof,” said Derek when he quieted.

“You like it,” said Stiles, melting until he was ragdoll-limp and closing his eyes. 

“Yeah, I do.” 

Stiles just hummed and enjoyed the hug. He felt like he was floating down a warm, lazy river of awesomeness, and it was awfully convenient to have a boyf— _husband_ who didn’t mind supporting both their body weights. Man, he was loopy. He must have been riding on an adrenaline high until now.

“Stiles.”

“Yeah,” said Stiles, smacking his lips.

“Let’s get some sleep.”

“Huh? No,” protested Stiles, trying and failing to open his eyes. “We gotta, you know. Do the do.”

“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be—mmph.”

Stiles had successfully mashed his hand onto Derek’s mouth without looking because he was awesome. “No, I can do this. Good to go. Good to good.”

Derek kicked the front door shut and started walking Stiles backwards toward their bedroom. “When’s the last time you slept? 

“I had a nap at the lake, remember?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that counts. You were sitting up and it was less than half an hour.”

“Totally counts,” said Stiles, feeling the back of his legs hit the mattress. He fell down willingly, immediately turning onto his side to get comfy.

Derek pulled him back up into a sitting position to slip the loosened necktie off over his head. “Come on, let’s get your fancy suit off so you can sleep.”

Stiles was only able to take off his suit jacket before giving up. “Why am I suddenly so tired? I swear I was fine in the car.”

“Probably because of many, many reasons,” said Derek, shucking off his own jacket and pants and hanging them on a chair. Stiles made grabby hands at him, and Derek rolled his eyes, took his tie off, and went his way. “Yes? May I help you?”

“I have to unbutton your shirt,” said Stiles, stubborn in the knowledge that he was 100% right. 

“Oh, you do?”

“Yes. It’s your wedding day. You can’t unbutton your own shirt.” Stiles fumbled a bit, but he got the first three buttons undone, until he could grin at the new glimpse of chest hair. “Okay, close enough.”

Derek shook his head in wry disbelief, then finished taking off his shirt himself. “Thanks for the help.” 

Stiles just smiled affectionately and patted Derek on the chest, covered only with a white tank. He let his hand stay there for a gratuitously long time, until Derek snorted at him. 

Derek finally got Stiles out of his wedding clothes, then bullied him into the bathroom for a much-needed piss, gave him fresh boxers, and put him into the bed. He even turned the A/C on high, because somehow he knew Stiles liked sleeping like that. 

Stiles felt light and floaty and weighted and warm all at once, and as soon as Derek slid in next to him, clad only in boxers himself, he wrapped himself him like a big lazy sloth, thinking _holy crap, I’m touching his chest-skin with my chest-skin_. “What’re you doing?” he mumbled, watching Derek type out something on his phone. 

“Setting an alarm. So we can do the do.” Derek’s voice was dry, but he waggled his expressive eyebrows at him.

“Words cannot—” Stiles yawned mightily, “—express how grateful I am that you called it that.”

“The things I do for my husband.”

Stiles fell asleep to the gentle pressure of lips on the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just can't believe that Stiles "No I'm the Big Spoon" Stilinski would let Derek carry him over the threshold without a fight.


	28. go for it

Stiles woke up first and gave himself a solid twenty minutes of gratuitous staring at Derek’s splendid everything—well, his arms and the few inches of collarbone that peeked out of the comforter—before he pulled on a t-shirt, went to the kitchen and hunted through their food supply. 

It was strange, and a little sad, being back when the last time he was here, he was alone, and Derek had run off in a fit of guilt. Stiles sighed, but he wasn’t discouraged. Just… aware. That happened only five days ago. Their relationship wouldn’t be perfect any time soon—ever, actually. But he smiled a bit when he looked around and realized that Derek had come back sometime this week and kept moving them in, arranging their possessions so they belonged together. The clock ticking next to the back door told him that it was a little past eleven. 

He found bagels and smoked salmon in the fridge, which made sense, with all the years Derek and Laura were living in New York, a.k.a. the city of bagels and lox. He googled salmon bagels, found a fancy-looking open-faced sandwich recipe, and got to work, figuring he’d make one for himself now and Derek later.

Derek walked into the kitchen rubbing his eyes just after the toaster spit the bagels out. “Should I be scared that you’re cooking after all?”

“Har har. The day I mess up a sandwich is the day you should be truly scared. Take a seat, sir.” Stiles pushed Derek down to sit at the kitchen table and put on some coffee.

The scrambled eggs were overcooked, and Stiles didn’t use quite enough coffee grounds, but Derek ate everything with a contented air. They ate quietly, scooched their chairs together and hooked ankles under the table. And this—this was exactly what Stiles had been dreaming about when they first saw the house.

Derek sensed Stiles’ happiness and planted a kiss on his cheek as he stood up and took their plates to the sink to wash up. Stiles followed him, of course he did, stood behind him and wrapped his arms around Derek’s stomach.

“What are you thinking?” said Derek. “You’re being quiet.”

Stiles nodded, ducking his head so he could lean it against the back of Derek’s neck. “I just realized. The nogitsune is gone. The nemeton is much stronger already. Even if we don’t consummate our marriage, everything will probably be fine. What do you think about waiting another year? If we just waited until nightfall, even, it would break the binding ceremony. We could take our time.”

Derek put the plate he was washing down in the sink, wiped off his hands, and leaned against the counter. “Is that what you want to do?”

Stiles couldn’t even pretend. “No. But maybe it will make us stronger, as a couple. Give us time to take things slow. Date like other people do.” Or break up like other people do. He bumped his head gently against Derek’s neck and stifled the impulse to take everything back. 

It was a long moment before Derek spoke. “I don’t want to wait, either.”

“Really? You’re sure?” Stiles could barely let himself hope. “Who gets married after four weeks? Crazy people, that’s who.”

Derek turned around, carefully so he didn’t break Stiles’ embrace, and nudged their noses together. “Exactly. So let’s go brush our teeth—” which, after going so long without a toothbrush, Stiles could definitely get behind, “—take a shower, and go back to bed. I was promised slow boning, remember?”

Stiles kind of froze. “You—you really—”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling. “Yes.” 

So Stiles stood next to Derek and they brushed their teeth, nudging their shoulders against each other and making dry faces in the mirror. He was feeling like a new person, shiny and new, until he realized that this was for _sex_. They were brushing their teeth _for sex_.

He messed up his brushing rhythm and tried to cover it up, but Derek noticed, because of course he did. Stiles refused to look him in the eye and brushed his molars a little harder.

Derek rinsed out his mouth and looked at their reflections. “Do you want to have sex?” he asked plainly, which made Stiles startle a little bit.

“Yesh, I jusht—” Stiles spit out the toothpaste and rinsed out his mouth. “I’m afraid of messing up. I want to be good for you, and I don’t know if I can be.”

“Okay, let’s figure this out. We can talk this through.” When Stiles started grinning, he sighed, put upon. “Shut up.”

Stiles’ eyebrows flew up in protest. “I didn’t say anything! But now that you’ve given me the chance, I’d like to express how sexy this communication thing is that you’ve got going on.”

“Yeah?” Derek got this look in his eyes that had Stiles squealing _oh crap_ in his head, and he hefted Stiles so he was sitting on the sink counter, legs spread so Derek could step between. “Okay, first off, you can do almost everything, except please don’t call me sweetie, and don’t lick my abs.”

Stiles opened his eyes wide to take in Derek’s expression, and he nodded seriously. “Yeah,” breathed Stiles. “Yeah, okay.”

“Is there anything you don’t like?” Derek asked him, lightly running his fingers up Stiles’ back.

He reined in his runaway thoughts with a mighty effort. “Um, feet and armpit stuff kind of pull me out of it. Maybe if you’re really into it, we can try later, but probably not tonight. As for other kinkier stuff, I don’t have a lot of experience yet, but someday?”

“Okay. Now for the fun part. What do you want to do?” Derek was running his nose up Stiles’ neck and breathing lightly in Stiles’ ear, and it was comforting and shiver-inducing at the same time.

“I—honestly, anything, anything. Your husband is going to be super easy for the foreseeable future. What do you want?”

“I’ve been thinking…” Derek started, and he switched to the other side, pressing a soft kiss under Stiles’ ear there. “I think you’re still holding back on me. I know you want me, and you always respond when I initiate something, but you’re almost never the person to start it.”

Stiles didn’t know what to say. All he had were half-baked excuses that didn’t really apply anymore, since he’d agreed to trust Derek to know what he was ready for. He needed to stop treating Derek like he was going to fall apart at any moment.

Derek was still speaking, slipping both his hands under Stiles’ shirt so they could roam across his back freely. “Then I remembered what you told me a couple weeks ago. You said you thought I would get scared off by how you'd move too fast if we were dating normally.”

He vaguely remembered that. Well, he didn’t remember saying it, but it was a near-constant concern, so he didn’t doubt that he’d let it slip. “So, what, you’re saying you want to see me put the moves on you?” said Stiles, reverting to snark to hide how vulnerable this was making him feel.

Derek leaned forward enough that he could look straight into Stiles’ eyes and hover just out of reach of his mouth. “I want to see you so confident in us that you fucking just go for it.” Derek’s breath picked up, and his gaze traveled down to Stiles’ lips so heatedly Stiles could almost feel it on his skin. “I want to see you free.”

Stiles exhaled, and Derek licked his lips in response. “That’s so fucking—” Stiles said, then he gave up on finding the words and pulled Derek the scant breath of space that existed between them.

They crashed into each other, and Stiles literally could not care less about technique right now. There were lips and teeth and tongues and Stiles could barely keep track of what belonged to who, except that was Derek sucking on his tongue hard enough that Stiles went slightly crosseyed and moaned into it. Derek took hold of Stiles by the waist, and pulled him close enough that Stiles would have fallen off the counter if he didn’t wrap his legs around Derek and cling to his shoulders to keep kissing him, because there was no way in hell he was ever going to stop this kiss.

It was like, with Derek’s words, he’d poured kerosene on the constant low burn of arousal that Stiles had been suffering from since he first saw Derek waiting for him in that diner, all dark clothing and angled eyebrows and perfect sense of humor. 

Stiles wrapped himself more tightly around Derek and let himself combust.

Stiles’ experience with guys before this was limited to 1), a handjob behind a club, and 2), an unreciprocated blowjob from a date who had first fallen asleep, then pushed Stiles out of his own bed. So Stiles was a little surprised to find himself grinding so shamelessly against Derek’s crotch, and taking to it like a duck to water.

“Derek,” he hissed, feeling like he had to tell him something but no idea what.

Derek moaned back and grabbed him by the ass to rock them harder against each other. 

“Derek, I—” Stiles let go, knowing Derek would keep him up, leaned back and tore his t-shirt off over his head, knocking his elbow painfully on the mirror. “ _Fuck_. Le fuck. Fuckeroni.”

Derek snickered and grabbed his elbow, draining the pain so quickly it went a little numb before he stroked one hand down Stiles’ torso, starting at his collar bone and slowing as it neared the waistband of his boxers. It was sexy as hell, and Derek’s gaze on him was bright, like it was Christmas and Stiles was the thing he wanted but hadn’t had the guts to ask for. 

Stiles pushed forward until Derek had to give way and he could land his feet back on the floor. “Shower,” said Stiles, panting and slapping him lightly on the shoulder to get him to focus. “Shower first. We have hangover stank all over us.”

Which just set Derek off, laughing again. It was good to know Stiles wasn’t the only person who thought he was hilarious. 

Stiles grinned at him, pushed his boxers off in one smooth motion and went to the shower, turning it on and testing the water. When he turned around, Derek was still standing there, a shit-eating grin on his face.

“What?” 

“I can’t take off my own t-shirt on my honeymoon. It’s the rules,” said Derek, clearly proud of himself for that one.

“Why did it take me so long to figure out you’re a giant goober?” said Stiles, pretending to be grumpy but seriously delighted as he peeled Derek’s t-shirt over his shoulders. “How the heck did you fool me in the first place?”

Derek just lifted one eyebrow at him and stepped out of his boxers, which—

Okay, so Stiles’ brain shorted out for a little bit. 

“Come on,” said Stiles, grabbing Derek by the hand and pulling him into the shower. “I have plans for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They totally did the do, guys.
> 
> Con/crit please! Do you think I made Stiles waffle around too much in this chapter? Or did it seem natural to his character? I've been over this chapter too many times in the last three days and have no perspective anymore.
> 
> Also, I'm trying to write this with a T rating in mind, but if you think it warrants an M, please let me know. 
> 
> One more chapter! Eek!


	29. after glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> June 22-July 7

“I _cannot believe—_ ”

“I know, Stiles. You don’t have to say it again.”

“—that we consummated our marriage with handjobs in the shower. I mean, it’s one thing to _say_ that virginity is a societal construct, and that penetration isn’t like, the only way of having sex ‘that counts’ or whatever,” said Stiles, making air quotes with his fingers, “but it’s another to actually be able to prove it.” He had the kind of restless energy that he usually associated with static shocks and late-night research binges. Which, given his current sleep schedule, was about right.

Derek mumbled, face-down on Stiles’ chest. When the bond solidified, blazing to light and wrapping around their hands one last time before vanishing, they had stumbled out of the bathroom in a daze, falling into bed. Neither of them had found the big towels yet, but Stiles had snagged a pile of hand towels on the way and was now sitting up against the headboard, using one of them to dry Derek’s hair. 

Derek was using him as a giant teddy bear. Stiles didn’t know if it was an afterglow thing, or a binding thing, or what, but it made him happy that he could bring Derek comfort.

“Hey,” said Stiles, poking at Derek’s shoulder in a way that he hoped would come across as caring. “Are you okay? How’s the bond treating you?”

“It’s a little overwhelming,” said Derek. “I feel all the pack bonds to your pack now, but I don’t know everybody, so it’s weird.” 

Stiles pet Derek’s head and hummed speculatively. “Yeah, I don’t feel pack bonds unless I make a spell specifically for it. Which reminds me, we still gotta have dinner at Satomi’s house soon. I know it’s pretty far to go after work, though, so I was thinking on a weekend?”

Derek nodded against his chest. 

“Wanna sleep?” Stiles asked softly. He could only imagine the chaos in Derek’s brain right now. Satomi’s pack was a little on the large side.

“No.” Derek propped himself up so he could look Stiles in the face. “I’m getting used to it, just… Can you just keep talking?”

Stiles melted, but he managed to keep himself from dripping off the bed onto the floor in a pile of goo. “Oh, such a hardship. You know how I hate the sound of my own voice.”

Derek snorted.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to push yourself,” said Stiles, speaking softly, ruffling the top of Derek’s head a bit. 

“I didn’t push myself _at all _,” said Derek, glaring at nothing and pouting a bit, although the effect was ruined when he rolled his head luxuriously at the feeling of Stiles drying his hair. Let’s be real. Stiles had been done drying his hair within a minute. This was just for fun.__

“Not that I wouldn’t be happy to do more, if you’re ready,” Stiles hastened to say, “but it’s nice, you know? We don’t have a timeline. From now on, we can go at our own pace.” 

Derek planted an arm on each side of Stiles’ body and propped himself up into a stupidly comfortable-looking pushup, causing Stiles flashbacks of that morning waking up in the one-person tent. “You’re being very zen about this.”

Of course Derek would notice. Before this, Stiles had been very careful to stay patient and supportive, but that had been an act of epic self-discipline. “Let’s just say that now, I have a bigger appreciation for the slower things in life,” said Stiles, raising his eyebrows loftily. 

“And what if I don’t want to go slow?” said Derek, coming closer until the sharp tip of his nose was drawing a line down the side of Stiles’ neck, down his sternum, inhaling deeply at his navel.

Stiles’ breath quickened, and he felt his whole body start to flush. “Then I would be so for that, you have no _idea_ —”

“ _Good_ ,” growled Derek, before he bundled the blanket off the bed and threw it clear across the room.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When Stiles had thought Derek looked at him like it was Christmas, it was just the tip of the Christmas-feelings iceberg, because the next few days?

Delivery pizza and beer on their new back patio? Christmas.

Picking up Chewie and introducing her to their new home? Christmas.

Figuring out how to use a waffle iron, and immediately using it to make waffle hash browns? Freaking Christmas on a plate.

The weekend was a haze of fuzzy feelings and sweat sliding down their backs and shared showers and watching dumb movies and figuring out the laundry machine and tripping and turning it into a funny-sexy strip tease that had Derek shaking his head in exasperation but also chasing after Stiles with _that look_ in his eyes. 

It was finally checking their phones to the mass of highly inappropriate congratulatory messages upon discovering the new pack bonds, because of course everybody knew the exact moment they consummated the marriage. Stiles couldn’t muster up much embarrassment, though, because he was married to _Derek_. As if Stiles would be able to play it cool where Derek was concerned in any situation. 

It was also way too many friends and family members just trying to drop by, which, come on. Nobody had any sense. They finally had to send out a mass text, to both packs, that they were putting the metaphorical sock on the door until next month, at least. 

Monday was the absolute last day Derek could get off of work, so they were forced to finally leave their house and get that pesky marriage license taken care of, with Scott and Deaton’s help as witnesses. They also fixed the windows on Stiles’ Jeep, which would have bankrupted Stiles if Derek hadn’t insisted on paying. (It took Derek pointing out that Stiles needed a usable car if he was going to get a job for Stiles to finally accept.)

Stiles spent the rest of the day doing his best to make Derek forget that he’d ever seen what the M in M. Stilinski stood for.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Tuesday morning found Stiles giving Derek one last, longing kiss at 8:40, and Derek tripping a little as he reluctantly got into his car. 

“Text me dick pics!” called Stiles, just to watch Derek brain himself on the car door. 

Derek blew him a kiss with his middle finger, making Stiles cackle.

Once that sexy Camaro was gone down the street, Stiles went inside, picked up Chewie, and planted a kiss on her tiny black-and-tan head. “Come on, girl. Time to get a job.” 

Their life wasn’t going to build itself.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
Stiles got a job with their realtor’s office, of all places. Apparently his new boss was aware enough of the supernatural world that she was always trying to get Deaton to ward her properties, and it was Deaton’s idea for her to just hire Stiles full-time. He wasn’t licensed to sell houses, obviously, but he could show off rental properties and field property management calls. It was pretty perfect, actually. His propensity for doing his homework and being forthcoming about information (read: talking a lot) made clients trust him, and his hours were flexible enough that the odd emergency wouldn’t cost him his job.

Also, Deaton said that Stiles was better at warding than he was, which caused Stiles to re-evaluate his whole Deaton-is-a-lizard-person stance to more of a Deaton-is-socially-awkward-but-actually-okay one. 

After his first full week of work, Stiles parked in front of the open garage. “Honey, I’m home!” he yelled obnoxiously, stepping around the pile of camping equipment lying in the driveway and waving his bag of groceries around.

He heard Derek’s faint yell of _out back_ and walked through the garage to the backyard, where he could smell—yup, that was Derek manning the grill in the very best sense of the word, wearing those damn basketball shorts and an old t-shirt. Amazing. 

“I have something for you,” he said, putting the groceries on the picnic table and letting Derek pull him closer by the belt buckle.

Derek kissed him filthily, and Stiles pressed himself right against that hot, summer-sweaty body and silently crowed to himself that they were a truly disgusting couple. He hoped they would never stop being disgusting. “Yeah?” said Derek, abandoning the grill so he could reach down and squeeze Stiles’ ass through his business-casual slacks. “From the store?”

“Are you ready for this?” Stiles stepped away just long enough to pull something out of the bag, then whirled around to shove it into Derek’s hands. “Ta-da! I have officially brought you bacon.”

“Nice,” said Derek, generously playing along and not getting it.

“Oh, crap, I messed up the punchline. I brought home the bacon, Derek,” said Stiles, widening his eyes for emphasis. “I got paid! I’m finally a wage-earning member of society!”

“Ohhhhh,” said Derek, pretending to be impressed. “I see what you did there.”

“It wasn’t even on sale,” said Stiles, waving his hands in frustration. “I bought bacon full-price and you’re not even laughing.”

Derek sent him a truly deranged smile before he finally cracked up for real. “Isn’t it early for you to be making money?”

“Nah, all the payment for magic has to be under the table, so Sandra’s paying me in cash once a week,” said Stiles, stealing a sip of Derek’s fancy lemon water. “Today she gave me, like, two hundred bucks! Which isn’t a lot to some people, but to someone who knows how to eat for only one hundred bucks a month—” Derek sent him a truly horrified look here, “—this is a major windfall. This is like unlimited ramen and canned corn.”

“Please stop talking, I’m begging you.” Derek was staring at Stiles’ chest like he was listening to his heart for potential problems. Actually, that was probably exactly what he was doing.

Stiles took another drink. “Did you get off work early? I saw all the camping stuff.”

“Yeah, they let us go at four as a thank-you for wrapping up the fourth of July events. I thought we could pack up your Jeep tonight, so we don’t have to do it in the morning.” Derek opened the grill and pretended to check the pork chops there, looking self-conscious.

Stiles wanted to gush all over. Derek was 1) ridiculously excited to go camping with both packs, now that he was getting to know Satomi’s pack better, and 2) always going to be a try-hard dweeb who couldn’t bear to be late. He’d probably wake them both up before seven the next day. It could be annoying, but at the moment, it was freaking adorable.

“No problem, Der-bear,” Stiles said, kissing him on the cheek and heading inside with the groceries. For Derek, he could pack his clothes a day early.

Well, okay, maybe he leaned against the back door for a minute first, just ogling the sight of Derek making him dinner.

Yeah, he could get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I wrote 64,000 words on my first fanfic. _The plan was to start writing fanfic to work on my writing style via cute experimental one-shots._ I am simultaneously pleased and furious with myself.
> 
> On the other hand, it has been an absolute blast and I totally get the addiction now! Thank you so, so, SO much for taking the time to read, comment, and give kudos! I did my best to reply but when I didn't, it was usually because I was so touched, I couldn't think of anything to say but thank you a bunch of times, and it didn't seem like enough! Also, thanks for reading while it was still a WIP! As someone who only reads completed fics, I don't know how you do it, but I respect you and your moxie.
> 
> I don't have a writing/teen wolf tumblr account yet, but my regular tumblr account name is vkevans. Like I said, there's a tragic lack of teen wolf (I'm just trying to keep it from taking over my life) but there _are_ a lot of stupid memes and sometimes cool artwork, so if that's your thing let's be friends! Just let me know you're not a porn bot and I'll follow you right back!
> 
> expect the epilogue within the week! <3


	30. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set one year later, on the summer solstice

The summer solstice the next year was on a Saturday, conveniently enough. Laura’s pack and Satomi’s pack showed up at the clearing for a massive barbecue in celebration of the most drama-free (and murder-free) year anybody had seen in decades.

Stiles helped set everything up with Derek, since they were now the de facto organizers of all inter-pack gatherings from now on, but once everybody arrived they were free to make the rounds and catch up with everyone. Stiles had already eaten way too many arepas, so he gave himself a moment to sit on the nemeton and get sappy.

Cora insisted on bringing her shiny new food truck, even if that meant driving at a snail’s pace over the bumpy road. It was worth it, though. She was making an impressive dent in the appetites of the two packs, and it also gave her the chance to show off to the Escobar family, who had just flown in from Venezuela the previous week. She was enjoying herself a lot more than Isaac, who was taking this food truck business _way_ too seriously. It was approaching peak levels of douche-osity. 

But then it occurred to Stiles that Isaac was probably trying to impress Cora’s adopted family, and it was hard to be annoyed at him after that.

Laura and Jordan were talking with the Escobars, leaning back in their ring of fancy camping chairs. Laura smoothed her giant t-shirt over her equally giant baby bump, caught Stiles watching them, and smiled like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Stiles dramatically flailed and looked the other way, pretending he was too macho to get emotional like this. (Laura wouldn’t be fooled, of course. Just last month, she’d caught him crying when they watched Coco.)

Scott and Kira were playing volleyball like the sexy, athletic couple they were. They were still together, and would have moved in already if it weren’t for her parents. Scott hadn’t put a ring on it yet, but Stiles had seen his browser history. Heck, he’d seen his Pinterest board, and so had Kira, since Scott didn’t know how to make that sort of thing private.

Over by the line of folding camp tables, Stiles spotted his dad make a sneaky move toward the fried chicken, only for Natalie Martin to sweetly grab his hand and kiss it like she had no ulterior motives at all, her new engagement ring glinting. Stiles grinned. She was a catch _and_ she was on Stiles’ side on the war against cholesterol. Parent trap accomplished.

Lydia was there, not officially dating Jackson until he got his shift under control, but it was obvious to anybody with half a brain. They never got further than 10 feet from each other and they were doing that feet-pointing thing that Stiles remembered from his nonverbal communication class. He gave them until the next full moon before Lydia committed all the way.

Brett was… somewhere. Stiles didn’t particularly care at the moment, since Brett had been spending way too much time on the Stilinski-Hale living room couch in the wake of his newest breakup. Stiles was one more uninvited visit away from assigning him household chores.

Hideyo had his arm slung around his wife, Mimi, and was watching Deaton and Marin Morrell squabble with a barely suppressed grin on his face. Stiles should probably head there soon to break it up. Marin wouldn’t be able to keep bickering with her brother with one of her marriage counseling clients around. She was a professional lady, after all.

Thinking of their last marriage counseling session, Stiles looked for his husband next. The year hadn’t been easy on either of them. Stiles had a hard time believing in the power of a budget, since he’d never had enough money to worry about more than immediate survival. Derek liked feeling financially stable and spending the bare minimum on everything but food. 

Stiles was going to therapy, as he planned, and honestly hated it. It was doing some good, but after the nogitsune, he just wanted to wake up and not have to put so much work into his mental health. No such luck. 

Derek hadn’t run off again—not without first telling Stiles he needed some time—but he would always prefer withdrawing to engaging in healthy conflict. 

They both had those days where they woke up and thought, _this is the day he’ll decide I’m too much. He’s finally going to give up on me._

But, like Stiles’ dad told them, it was a matter of choosing each other, again and again and again. And one year later, somehow, there were no regrets for either of them. Only gratitude and determination.

Better together.

Stiles loved, loved, loved Derek with every atom in his body, and Derek’s love for him felt like an ocean, a fact of life that shaped the world around him, changing with the weather but always present. Water was a pretty appropriate metaphor, actually. When Derek was able to tell Stiles he loved him for the first time, it was like a dam was broken, and every pent up drop of affection came pouring out. 

In retrospect, Stiles could see that both he and Derek were just two people with an unbearable amount of love locked inside, scared to let it out. More and more each day, they were each other’s safe place.

He finally spotted Derek talking to Satomi over by the drinks, probably talking about fancy teas or blues albums or how they just don’t make rocking chairs like they used to, something only truly ancient people care about. Seriously, Derek was widely known as Satomi’s newest favorite, and nobody could even get mad at it because he had a way of making Satomi positively cheery. Stiles took to calling them the grandpa club when they were together. They both hated it. 

Stiles suspected that Satomi also saw his husband as readily available eye candy, which he couldn’t even fault her for. She was almost two hundred years old, but she wasn’t dead.

Something started licking his hand, and he discovered that Chewie was trying to lick the fried chicken grease off his fingers. “Gross,” he muttered, wiping his hand on his shorts, but picking up the yorkshire terrier all the same. “There’s no way you’re hungry. You’ve probably been eating your weight in people food.” Scott, in particular, was weak in the face of Chewie’s beady black eyes.

Holding Chewie in his lap with one hand, he planted his other on the nemeton, sending his awareness into the earth. The nemeton sent back a friendly pulse, recognizing him almost as an extension of itself. The sprout from last year was practically a sapling now, about four feet tall. Stiles came back at least once a month, whenever he was feeling impatient or discouraged.

Slow growth, against all odds, adding up over time.

It was such an obvious metaphor for his own growth, it was a miracle he hadn’t nicknamed it yet. Stiles funneled a bit of his contentment into the nemeton. If the nemeton was an amplifier, it couldn’t hurt.

A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Derek beaming at him. “Hey, bright eyes,” said Derek, kneeling at his feet and drawing him into a kiss. 

“Hey, love of my life,” said Stiles, grinning at him, so close that their lips brushed when they were talking.

“So I got you something.” Derek settled into a comfortable position and leaned on Stiles’ legs, giving Chewie a warning look when she tried to lick his face. “Well, maybe. Depending on what you say.”

“Oh! I got you something, too!” Stiles had totally forgotten. It was something good, too. They hadn’t gone anywhere for their honeymoon, so he’d saved up enough for a weekend at a cabin near Yosemite. “It’s, uh, at the house, though.”

“Funny you should mention the house.”

Stiles’ eyebrows went up. “Oh?”

Derek tapped his fingers against Stiles’ thigh, looking thoughtful. “Don and Belinda called a couple weeks ago. They’re moving out to the coast and would rather sell it outright, especially if it’s to us.”

“Could we afford that?” Stiles put Chewie down to concentrate and started doing the math in his head, which wasn’t that hard after a year working with Sandra. “I guess the monthly payment wouldn’t have to be more than what we pay now, depending on what interest rate we get. I could do some extra overtime if we need it.”

“What if I wanted to use the life insurance money to buy it outright?”

Stiles frowned, unsure he heard that right. “The life insurance money? Are you sure?” Derek hadn’t talked about it in six months, at least.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I can still help pay for it, though,” said Stiles, worried at the thought Derek might think he was too irresponsible to start paying for rent, now that their year of free housing was up. “I already planned—”

“No, that’s not why,” said Derek, taking Stiles’ hands in his own. “It feels like it’s ours already, you know? I want to make it official. And I think my parents would be proud.”

Stiles swallowed and played with Derek’s left hand, intertwining their fingers and smoothing over his wedding ring. Like Derek said, it felt like it was theirs already. It was a little small, and the garage roof needed replacing, but it was home. “Then that sounds really good,” he said, quietly. And it did. It sounded right. 

“Yeah?” Derek started smiling, eyes crinkling, dimples out, the whole shebang.

Stiles tipped forward to kiss him again, only pulling back when they heard Cora yell, “Get a room!” 

“Happy anniversary,” said Derek, grinning at him as people started howling and clapping obnoxiously.

“Happy anniversary,” said Stiles, feeling like he was about to burst. He flipped Cora off behind Derek’s back and dove back in with another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it! I'm done! I'm still deciding what I want to do next, but hopefully I'll pick an idea soon. 
> 
> If you've noticed something in my writing style that doesn't work, or even just something you want to see more of, please tell me! [I wanna get better!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8twpQTna_9w)


End file.
